Tarmac

Like tarmac, thin layer of carbon on my tongue,

Lick it off and feel my cheeks crumble like sand.

Shiny shower gel bottles and a shrivelled bar of green hand soap.

Dreaming of cars on motorways and smoke screens and no tears,

A dry face in a dusty barn:

D words, consonance, cough, throaty alliteration,

Bats in the darkness from the circus scene of

A 6 year old’s recurrent dream.