The Ache In My Weak Brains Poem by Mark Heathcote

Orchards in the sun close to beehives
They were always on my childish mind
Centipedes on my skin
Stopped me; from sitting still
The ache in my weak brains
When the school bell rings
Twisted like barbed twines in the ivy vines
When the evening blushed and the bats
Circled a campfire above the wheat fields
I'd danced in the wind, the sweet meadow dust
That rinses off the wings of crows
As they perched on a hay barn, shining gold
Where I'd wander silently as a thief
Too scared to blink for fear of what I'd miss.
Sneaking around milk churns
Fields wet with morning dew, cobwebs
I'd slip back into school and its chloroform daze.
And count the clouds blocking out the sun
And sink back into my cage
Wandering what on earth I'd done wrong
Why this hatchling had its wings clipped and folded
Why this metaphorical leopard has got no spots
And has its paws in useless worn-out books
Peter and Jane books, Play with us.
Me, I felt like a moth under a weighty granite stone
More dead than a bug in a Datsun Sunny car's radiator grill.