Skipping Rope Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

Your tongue is a skipping rope
You can skip one way and then another darling
But never remain fixed to either side
Always right, never wrong
As slippery as an eel
With an electric barb

What is the narrative here dear
A ditch I don't want to inhabit
I jump, jump, jump - dance
Your darts find my bullseye, time after time, sweet heart

No matter what side of the ditch I stand on,
the views of the fields
are stretching out into infinity
Whether it's the golds of rapeseed
Or the greens of corn
A dividing force between oil and water,
a varicose vein, head to toe,
of a Fred Ingrams landscape

I am not here for childish games
The horizon zigzags, no matter
There's no right and wrong
Everything is grey fighting for its own colour
The restless sky is the limit
I can jump. That's why I'm still learning to fly