Jumping Frogs No. 1

Mamma when I got home that night the frogs were jumping all around the drive
The tarmac drive that glistened from the evening’s rain
And I had to dance; just I had been doing, to get to the door
There were big ones and small ones and they just kept jumping

Then when I awoke I realised I had to go to my grandfather’s grave that day
I sank mamma, deeper into my bed, as my mind floated through days with Pixie
Suddenly I was in a cloudy room and the floor was strewn with newspapers
And I was laughing with him as he told me about stories of priests and crazy morals

Mamma you came in the room then, you told me what day it was and I giggled
You thought the drink had been too harsh on me and had jumbled my mind
And we laughed as you left the room and said you needed to feed the animals
Then everything went quiet as I was back in my granddads house with his stories

Suddenly I felt all-warm inside as if someone really wanted me there
And as a turned my gaze off ‘the last Cowboy of the North’ and looked towards the kitchen door
Grandma Pat was standing there offering me food
And as I removed my black boots and placed them neatly together I stretched out on the couch and smiled knowing this place as my second home

Pat’s living room is a haven for the weary grandchild
There is no one there to judge and certainly no one they’re to preach,
And there is always a bed to sleep in and a tea waiting for you on a coaster
In Pat’s front room you aren’t the visitor but the guest

Since Pixie died that couch doesn’t seem as comfy and the air smells too clean
And since Pixie died I can’t focus on anyone’s stories properly as I am always making comparisons
Since Pixie has died I feel Mr. Keith Richards doesn’t have any real competitors
Mamma am I being too dramatic, does anyone feel this way? Why doesn’t my bed feel as soft anymore?

And now mamma it’s night time and we’ve been to your father’s grave
Auntie Gemma looked nice today, she seemed relaxed, and cousin Will seemed mature and better at conversation
I felt like I got a little bit closer to Will today
And my Uncle Tom made fun of me being a poet and calls me soft, I like that, he knows I can take a joke and he knows I am a poet

Mother now I am going to be serious and try to communicate something proper
I am thinking about Pixie down below and thinking of John Prine’s “Don’t Bury Me”
Please don’t bury me down in the cold cold ground, no I’d rather have them cut me up and pass me all around
But Pixie was buried and he is in the cold ground and nobody has a piece of him
Perhaps he took a piece of us with him and I’d rather have him take something from us than us take something from him

Mother all I have left of him are memories and a golden cap badge
All that are mine are remembered dialogued between us
And the smell of tobacco smoke that stains the clothes
And hangs on till well after you left the house

All that I have to give you is a gold cap badge and a bush hat
That was laid beside him as he died, at home
“And a rose does rest upon his crown”
The badge and hat were on the left and a rose on the right

I don’t’ rate the frogs anymore
I don’t care if they bounce on the driveway like they used to
And I don’t rate the stories he told whilst he preached
And I don’t see grandma’s mouth arching upwards anymore
But I do see us mamma, I do see us.