KID SKIN.

I fell into a pile of my child’s clothing
Whilst tidying her ruin of a room,
And was swallowed by the heaving
Mass of down and dirty linen.

After what seemed longer than it
Should I came to rest upon an under
Garment floor and caught my breath;
Mingled as it was with pelted sweat.

It trailed fibres through my lungs, as
They settled for a minute, before panic
Rushed their ration and compelled me
Up; worry fitting better than apparel.

I scrambled, but my wrists and ankles
Caught in dampened arm and leg
Holes, whilst turtle necks detected my
Approach and shot inside their shells.

And with swimming being a queasy feat
I pulled myself up by the collar of a
Rain coat and was as ruddy as a single
Coloured sock amidst a wash of white.

Wearily my sense returned and
Shaking off the must of many hours
Sunken in such filthy cloth I climbed
Further than a jumper’s wool allowed.

By and by I broke the surface of the
Cotton Sea and shrugging free of all
Material spilled naked from the waist
Bands of ancient parts I’d left behind,

Unsure of whose hems were lying next
To mine or hefted up above a water
Line I thought I’d long since covered
With a more autumnal costume.