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Cherry trees,
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.
4 comments:
I love the closing line.
Thank you, dear lady
Oh. That is sublime, Rachel.
Praise from the master. Thank you.
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