4th March 2026

Worm moon

bathed in martyr's blood

larksong

© Rachel Green March 2026

No Apparent Reason

Sitting outside Greggs, I break apart

my vegan sausage roll. In this rare moment

I am alone and without loves or dogs,

waiting for a digital clock to read thirty.

The car is at the garage; barely legal tyres

due to be changed, before the potholed roads

strip away the last of the failing rubbed.

If this was France, the people around me would be smiling

but here everyone is numb,

unremarking on the clear blue sky

and the sea-wash of traffic on the five-ways roundabout

Pastry flakes off, fodder for sparrows,

and later on, pigeons touring the closed cafe's.

I don't eat the pastry.

I barely eat whatever's inside

and I imaging my grandmother

examining the carcass of the roll

and declaring it a waste of money

because God invented pigs for a reason,

and my mother pointing out He made men, too,

and we still don't know why.

© Rachel Green March 2026