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