An autumn poem
Before the devil pisses on berries.
Late September Blackberrying down the
scrubs – by high high helixes of razor
wire. Filling peanut butter pots
with black red fruit. Brimful. Soursharp – Inky,
Imploding sweet – squashed by over- eager
Fingers – gashing hands on brambles that could
pull the wool from sheep. Gambling on low fruit
slashed by Shepherds and Rottweilers.
The kitchen filled with blackberry. Cauldrons
Of red black boiling glop. I tried to catch
the setting point – risking burns and blisters –
my fingers forming surface crinkles through
bloodthick syrup on a frozen saucer.