Hi, all. London calling! here’s another one about my real home. It’s called THE SMELL, and it’s about an incident that happened to me at Willingham’s Farm in Thorngumbald, half a lifetime ago.
THE SMELL by David Osgerby
Just the smell of hay brings it all back.
Grossly swollen heifer; overdue.
Wild eyes. Sweat on flanks.
And me. A child of seven or so.
Fresh hay strewn on the cobbles.
Baling twine,tied around the calf’s legs.
Heaving. Straining. The mother bellows.
Blood. S##t. The waters break.
And then: horror upon horror,
Dead calf slithers out.
No movement. No life.
I run off. Too much sordid reality.
But the memory stings my dreams.
I repress the memory,
until the smell of hay
brings every detail flooding back to me.
By Dave Osgerby
Copyright 2012
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Why not have a go at writing a short-story or poem? If you want to submit something for Wednesday Writings then e-mail it to hedonblog@gmx.com – and please put WEDNESDAY WRITINGS in the subject line.