The Sun sets on an open wound. The broken watch reads dead on 5 o'clock and the ground is getting warmer.
A watchman takes in the view but cannot distinguish the muddied dishcloth coat from the hallowed ground.
Across the water a bugle will play on a rugby pitch but the notes spell out no name. A butcher and a nurse keep the name in mind through pained silence.
A spokesman talks the talk. The walk to the dugout continues to be sold by the pound as the papers keep stringing the lie.
A botfly surviving the misty embrace of the dawn of the year is drawn to the mess and gives its maggots a brand new home.
Doggy or Daddy?
I can't remember if my first word was doggy or daddy. After three years of charting cerebral terra incognita I must have said something.
My Mum recites the afternoon I could talk to my father across the Atlantic and all the words, these sounds I only heard, came out in sentences.
We never had a dog when I was small. So why would it have been doggy? Did a doggy direct the call? Did I hear my father's disembodied voice and find him beastly? Did I call a dog with a bone on the dog and bone and tell it how I miss my daddy?
The nicknames my parents used to call each other always involved bears. And bears aren't dogs. I feel it's time for this cub to grow some claws and decide on an answer.
I hope it was doggy. I wouldn't have wanted to get too attached to the other.
Sam Arrowsmith lives and works in Birmingham, England, where he recently completed his university studies. His academic background includes a biochemistry bachelors and a biotechnology masters. Outside of science, he is an aspiring comedian, writer and artist. Sam runs Post Graduate Stress Disorder. This project is a series of stand-up comedy nights up and down the UK raising money for mental health charities (specifically Mind and Combat Stress). All the happenings regarding that can be found here.