Nostalgia

Deep in the stratigraphy of sporadic spring cleans
waits, forgotten,
a chest height nostalgia claymore,
filled with flechettes of teenage dreams.
Under thirty years of dust and debris,
quiet and safe it seems.
Camouflage for the loud and abrasive proto-poet
who hides, primed, on the pages within
Poems 1983.
To explode as a literal time bomb.
A blast from the past to burn and chastise me
with the naïve fire that shone so brightly.

When I was 19 and free.

(for Tiana Devlin-Sailor who brought this old piece back to my mind)