When the Dogs Bite: 26th September 2024

misting rain

on the dead willow tree

fungi

If I step outside

I breathe in the scent of autumn;

bonfires and fallen leaves,

fungi and the disappointment of children

waling in the rain to school.

Wet grass, wet shoes;

the litter left behind by kids and parents;

sweet wrappers and cigarette butts.

Yesterday the was a used nappy

stuffed into the gap between the fence

and the school gate and I wonder how

the adult could ever hope to be responsible;

but everyday there's a new film reel

of a house falling into the river, into the sea,

and still Putin wages war on tiny countries

hoping the world will look away

while a nappy-clad Trump runs for office

with the support of post-modernist Nazis.

When the Dogs Bite