Friday, 22 July 2016
long gone, vanquished
by the buzz of the chainsaw,
the bronzed bark left to rot
among the nettles and nightshade
of an orchard corner.
Light floods the study;
denies me the right to hide
from the world.
I am on display to the street.
No more haiku about birds and squirrels
but observations on my neighbours
as the creep like snails to work and school
or sail down the road on skateboards
and tiny yellow motorbikes.
The old lady across the way smiles,
waves a packet the postman left her
because I was out walking dogs.
Twelve years here and I still don't know her name
though she knows me well enough.
Clouds crowd out the sun,
our local star a whisper of promise
behind the sullen skies
left open for my pen.