Rebecca Faulkner
Threads
Seek shelter when the sirens start
the BBC intones, as I worry
my iron-on patches, watch
childhood evaporate, ice blue
in the late-night news glare.
From the kitchen window
I picture a mushroom cloud
above the local church spire
doorstep milk bottles melting
in the white heat of impact
while Dad props up the bar
at the Red Lion, carpet sticky
from decades of spilled pints
& broken promises. After school
we lie down dead in the street
with crowds demanding peace.
I’m tired of protesting nuclear war
while indifference is on display
in Woolworths’ windows, cut-price
deals for 99p. Rather be home
watching Dynasty, dreaming
of American sunshine, feathered
blond hair. I feel the acid burn
of Mum’s rebuke, unspeakable things
happen every day, an upturned pram
a toxic river. She’ll hold my hand,
explain Dad’s leaving again. I sit silent
as the sky, waiting for dust to settle.
