…
why did the traffic jam
like pitted damsons
air-con off
so we felt swindled
how come the sun
never flared up?
good walk though
over the big hill
toasted tea cakes
mustn’t effing grumble
a ten pound note
against the gushing rain
the matron’s face
these things still linger
like a headless horseman’s
horse’s hoof prints
on fresh snow
where earlobes tingle
once we stood
at a temporary bus stop
a flask of turnip soup
left at the traffic lights
three brown hares
always a pleasure
the troubadour in town
fined without a license
home & up the tree house
later in the coal shed
drawing games of scrabble
a pan fried rainbow trout
why did a meteor
not wipe us all out?
…
resarf poetry 