Sycamore Blues Poem by Martin Moore

SYCAMORE BLUES

That winged samara, indehiscent seed
Seduced me with your fluttering side show
On route from school, I felt a sudden need
To rescue you, some forty years ago
I picked you up and launched you to the clouds
Enthralled to see where you might land
I woke at Fennelly's door amongst the crowd
Plucked from the rear of Sonny Walsh's van.
The smell of steaming rustics in the air
A Hillman Hunters dent upon my arm
A broken tooth and matted, bloodied hair
Aside from that, no irreparable harm.
Doctor's surgery just across the street
In the arms of Mrs Walsh, god bless her soul
Releasing me, medical incomplete
To cry myself to sleep at ten years old.
My left arm broken, teeth in disarray
I woke my mother halfway through the night
To hospital with father the next day
To learn that doctors differ patients die
Six weeks in plaster, never out of school
My cast a written tablet all could read
Lesson learned, I'll never again be fooled
By that damned, accursed, winged samara seed.