Been climbing trees I've skinned my knees. My hands are black the sun is going down. She scruffs my hair in the kitchen steam. She's listening to the dream I weaved today. Crosswords through the bathroom door. While someone sings the theme-tune to the news. And my sister buzzes through the room leaving perfume in the air. And that's what triggered this.. I come back here from time to time. I shelter here some days.. A high-back chair. He sits and stares. A thousand yards and whistles. Marching-band (Boom-ching). Kneeling by and speaking up. He reaches out and I take a. Massive hand. Disjointed tales. That flit between short trousers. And a full dress uniform. And he talks of people ten years. Gone like I've known them all my life.