builder's van
displays a disabled badge
double-take
© Rachel Green October 2026
Soup of the Evening
Mum put marbles of mashed potato
as bergs in the bowl-seas of soup;
it strikes as odd behaviour now
but it helped to fill us up
when money was tight
and potatoes were in the garden, free.
The vats of soup on the Aga
simmered for hours, cooled, frozen
served up in the depths of winter
as a memory of the summer sun.
© Rachel Green October 2026
autumnal morning
flying past earth-toned trees
seagulls
© Rachel Green October 2026
Gift of the Street
frame required
but I worry about the cost
Providence intervenes
on the road home from town
someone has left out a frame.
Too big for my needs
but I have a mitre block
and a sharp tenon saw
© Rachel Green October 2026
fuckity bollox
went to buy a meat pie
fucked the car up
© Rachel Green October 2026
One Hundred Tiny Joys
one at a time
numbered watercolours
destined each to be given away
fly, my darlings, fly
you have brought me so much joy to make
now spread my joy,
my love,
to others
© Rachel Green October 2026
chill wind
wearing an idiot's hat
fresh coffee
© Rachel Green October 2026
Leaves in November
stiff winds
and the leaves are blowing off the trees
and bring a recollection of childhood.
I was at Big School,
which means I was at least thirteen
because those were the years we were held back
while the system switched high school ages
from eleven-plus the thirteen years
and Grant the Humongous shared a secret
that to catch a leaf before it touched the ground
would mean you would get a single wish.
So many breaktimes I wasted chasing leaves
and I never got the wish
to have my mum alive again
© Rachel Green October 2026
multiple deliveroos
all with different numbers
autistic Hell
© Rachel Green October 2026
All Hallow's Day
After the fireworks;
after the imported 'tradition'
of chaperoned children begging for sweets
(no, not fruit, or books, just sweets...
and not those cheap ones from multipacks)
another day brings calm.
The tolling of the church bells
announce survival of another year
as does the trails of sweetie wrappers
and discarded multipack lollies.
© Rachel Green October 2026
crisp air
the street oddly scented
patchouli
© Rachel Green October 2026
A Post-Christian Utopia
when the dead rose
they didn't shamble and stagger
and look for the living to satiate a hunger
they couldn't put a name against;
they formed orderly queues outside the church
and at the Salvation Army building
and asked "Is this the Resurrection?
Are we going to Heaven soon?"
and all the government could do
was treat them as Asylum Seekers
for the land of the Dead
and issue temporary passports and
put their names on reanimation certificates.
The next election had a new platform altogether
and was a 'look after' or 'destroy' coalition,
but the surprising outcome was the Ultra-Right
who ran with the slogan 'Ultra for Unlife'
and got in by a landslide until the economy crashed
because the Undead could work Unpaid
and the living all went to Hell.
© Rachel Green October 2026
woodsmoke
passing the allotments
burning leaves
© Rachel Green October 2026
Almost Always
why do I dream
of urinating in odd places
like stove tops
and towel bales
or a disconnected toilet
at a childhood friend's
or the men's urinal in a shopping mall.
At least I always wake up.
© Rachel Green October 2026
