Alchemisland

Getting a clear picture of my reflection in a pool

Clear plastic bag, few cans of cold mineral

End to quibbling when my quill starts scribbling

If a Bronté I’m the haunted drink-jockey Branwell

Well on his way to being a disgrace, family failure

Black sheep falling from a backstreet tavern, in tow innkeeper

Digs his toes in, reposed prone belly holding, black sleet gloaming.