It's Still Life

Unscuffed  Memories 

I can see it. A red brick house, 
hot to the touch come August. 

The lawn, cool and greened 
by the sweep of a sprinkler, 

and Dad’s black Ford Victoria, 
bought it the year I was born. 

White walls unscuffed, it was 
always parked in the driveway. 

He’d throw his spare coins into 
Saturday night’s bath water, 

and Mum curled my wet hair 
with strips of white cotton cloth. 

But mostly that red and black snake 
that chased me across the lawn. 

Written for WordPress bloganuary : Earliest memory  AI Digital Art: created using Midjourney’s bot (v4b) Image and poem ©Misky 2022 Shared on Twitter #amwriting