NaPM April 18 2015

[Keith]

Jamaica Inn

Five years difference
and sharing a bedroom.
I stare at the blue and white
wave patterns
in his candlewick bedspread
they seemed to move
in the half-light.
Go on, please tell me the story again.
Piss off and go to sleep,
it's two in the fucking morning
and we are leaving at four
you little fucker.

Keith, wake up, time to go.

Dad had turned off
the heating and the water.
I wrote the note
for the milk man
and drew a small Kilroy
was here in the corner.
It was still dark outside
as I climbed into the car
in my Kevin Keegan slippers
and flannelette jarmies.
I slipped inside the sleeping bag
and positioned my pillow,
allowing my teeth to chatter
into a laugh.

All the trees and fields
look the same as they roll
by, cold, lonely sheep look like bushes
in the gloom of daybreak,
the mist gases me
to sleep again.
By the time we reach the Cliffton
suspension bridged,
the sun is up and on me
as I hold my breath for the crossing,
my brother tries to make me laugh.
Somerset smells of cider
and we cheer as the sign passes,
the heat puts me to sleep again.

Down into the clotted cream
coast of Devon,
we stop at Barnstaple
for breakfast, a milky flask of coffee
and marmalade on toast.
We keep quiet listening to dad snore,
he needs the rest
or he could kill us all.
I can see the sea,
I can see the sea,
I can see the sea,
shouts my brother,
beating me for the third year running
as we pass the view point.

Welcome to Combe Martin,
just another four hours
to wait in the car
until the caravan's ready.
Mum did you pack my trunks ?
Shhh your dad's trying to sleep.
I lower my voice to a whisper.
Hey Chris, tell me the story again.
Shut up, we're here now,
who needs stories.