AN A.M. DAY
- Sep 5, 2025
- 1 min read
By Michael Charles Auty
in the blue grey, silver sleeting day
walls of solid water make white the lawn,
the way of hail, no longer liquid;
thinking how the man that thought
to burn his wife alive
would put the jerry can
in the bonnet
and, with a belated wave
to the butcher,
leave as surreptitiously.
driving home, September cold,
sou’wester drove the day away,
fire-smoke hangs between
the shadows of the wind
like a snow-full day.
amid the smoke smitten witch is tied,
taut, graceful to the timber’s burning
great day for a fire.
driving home, his subconscious thought,
past life torching witches…