NaPM April 18 2015

[rayheinrich]

Jamaica Inn

Five years difference
and sharing a bedroom.
I stared 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,
its two in the fucking morning
and we are leaving at four
you little fucker.

Keith, wake up, time to go.

Dad had had turned off
the heating and the water
I wrote the note
for the milk man
and drew a small Kilroy
was ere in the corner.
It was still dark outside
as I climbed into the car
in my Kevin Keegan slippers
and flannelette jarmies,
slipping inside the sleeping bag
and positioning my pillow.

All the trees and fields that roll
by, cold in the mists of July
look the same, asleep again.
Stop at Barnstaple for breakfast,
flask coffee and marmalade on toast,
keep quiet listening to dad snore,
he needs the rest
or he'll kill us all.

By the time we reach Cliffton
suspension bridged the sun is on me
and I hold my breath for the crossing
as my brother tries to make me laugh.

Somerset smells of cider
and we cheer as the sign passes,
the heat makes me sleep again.
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 caravans ready.
Mum did you pack my trunks ?
Shhh your dads trying to sleep.
I lower my voice to a whisper.
Hey Chris, tell me the story again.
Shut up, were here now,
who needs stories.

April in December It's never too late.
Love your reminisce poems. Having to translate from brit is part of the fun.
But emotions, trips with family; they're a universal language, you speak it well.

Typo's, blank lines counted:
16 two had's when one would do
21 "ere" means "before" to me, confused
53 caravan's, 55 dad's, 58 we're