She wasn’t my real aunty.


The wheel barrow derby still brings a tear to my Aunty Betty’s glass eye if they get it wrong.

Sacrifice shows it’s face in many ways, very similar to my Aunty Betty’s multi sided darts trophy that sits proud on my uncle Brian’s south facing sideboard.

Seeing is not at all as feeling is as tall she said gracefully accepting the by now tarnished trophy.

I suspect still reeling from our prophacy fulfilling failed passionate encounter up the woods as I recalled watching, forever in awe, her pushing with dire disapointment the Mini van for four miles or more.

As i had to later painfully recall.

Seeing as if i was still there. The mini van being pushed through a really wet wood, with me in shock but with my sense of humour, virginity and innocence intact and safe in it’s hallowed however small and damp dark deeply disturbing interior.

Well it brought it all back along with the smell of the Danish bracken.


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