By Mabh Savage
Caught red handed,
Well, purple really,
Juice dripping down
Guilty chin.
Bucket half full
Promising wine, crumbles, pies;
All lies
If I don’t stop eating them
Along the trail.
These jewels are not just mine
I share them with
Doves, pigeons, blackbirds
Lon Dubh shouting
As I invade
His sacred space.
So I leave enough
To feed the feathered folk
Even knowing this means
Imminent purple plopping
On the bonnet of my
Long suffering vehicle.
Dodging nettles
Spiky brambles
Benevolent thorns
They take my juice
As I seek theirs.
Caught red handed
Purple hand gang
States the seven-year-old
As we fill our chests
With treasure.