bells
bearded men under straw hats at spring
gaudying the playground with ribbons
that sprout from a maypole
you’d go in groups round the canopy
but recall the other times when snakes would descend
through a nightmare in the air
round your side of the bed till you’d find yourself
charging for the cool road in pyjamas
at maypole you’d get to shin a bell-pad
which was said to scare away spooks
so your mum needn’t weekly sprinkle the house
with holy water and chant prayers
for the snake shrine in your sandy village
bend your knees and skip with your year
to the countryside buzz of accordion and fiddle
as an auntie swallows a potion from the preacher
to grow her firstborn, a boy
while your gran’s in the whites of her eyes
for a deep-voice forebear who says you’ve sold your soul
your hair gets tugged cos you can’t recall the mantra
to appease the chicken-pox god
then clack sticks with Nigel bobbing your head
as the ribbon enwraps the maypole
and tie away what you earwig – the astrologer’s chart
once said your brother’s soon to pop his clogs
applauding the smoggy breathless sun
after everyone’s stopped could your smack
of a bell-pad stillness heal a hole in the stars