Aldermaston

The shortest day flattened the park
to a muddy green. We walked up
the slope to tall trees overlooking
the research centre. You shoved me
to the lowest branch and I climbed
into soft leathery clumps of mistletoe.

Sticky berries wiped up my arms
as I cut and threw wishbone bunches
down to you waiting with a bin bag.
Beyond the high wire fence
a technician cycled from one hut
to another. Tools in his back pocket

pulled down the back of his trousers.
Was he about to arm the secret weapon
or fix a wobbly toilet seat?
We walked home and tucked
the mistletoe’s fleshy scentless leaves
into every corner of the house.

Its sticky white eyes slowly dried
having seen nothing.