Tiny Rainbows

 

My sister’s shrill voice ebbs away like the tide,
Before racing back in to deposit
Unwelcomed syllables of piousness
Into my weakened body, mind and soul.
She warily tip-toes through the broken bar
Careful not to debase her bony legs,
Breezily surveying the bombed boozer while
Fixing her beautiful long brunette hair.
I sit and mutely stare at tiny rainbows
Refracted off a resilient pint pot;
A single intact item from our lives
Laid bare by the sun shining through the ceiling.

 

Piece produced for OU study.

Source: University of Sussex, Mass Observation Online, British Social History, Diaries 1939-1945, Diarist 5226, August 1941.

 

 

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