Dear Mr D Thomas I do not understand your poem
You made me bark my shin, It was the pedal of Dad’s bike in the darkness Of the living room - odd name living room. You dragged me through the various ochres of night and dark, But I did not wander in the park, Nor did I throw stones at lovers; The bark was the only sound in that muffled place of shadows When I crept from my blanket bed to the living room, to kill the carriage clock. I felt my way to the sideboard, Barked my shin and stuck my finger in The back of the clock to stop it striking the hours and halves Which had been keeping me awake; I had school next morning and I had been trying to force myself to go to sleep. It was the small hours but Those hours are anything but small and after stopping the clock, I floundered awake in a great abyss of silence. (A memory of childhood prompted by reading Once It Was the Colour of Saying , by Dylan Thomas)