spill

tongue-to-diary,
I remembered the taste,
because words then were thick,
like old milk; spilt.

sudden concrete slid,
beneath me, within me,
stained with lunch-time disaster,
spills, and then kills...

the yard had a playmate,
left behind at the sea change,
still sliding down plastic,
still spilling his faith.

Gutted,
I close up my memories,
and wring the aftertaste out.