An autumn poem

Wormwood Jam

 

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.

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