A Healthy Money Plant In The Sun-Drenched Corner Of A Poor Council House

(black & white photograph, with colour accents)

“I’m sure it’s our bloody ‘Misery’
that fertilizes the fucking thing.
It’s almost like it ‘Willed’
that flying flagon bottle
to hit that curtain rail right there
… got as much sunlight as it needs.
I’ve tried eating the bastard thing
but, it’s vile.
The deeper we ‘Sink’…
the more lush it ‘Blossoms’.
I’d throw it in the rubbish bin,
but, it was the last thing
that your father nicked for us
(aye, that’s right, a cutting
from the Solicitor’s windowsill,
when Uncle Dave
got sent down for that ‘10 Stretch’)
… before the daft, drunken bugger
went and shot himself…
God rest his useless fucking Soul.”

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer, who’s currently up to his elbows in Magic, and long may it remain this way. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.