Sunday, 28 August 2016

Sunday morning (late for me)

Starlings 3, 2, 1 across a neighbour’s roof-ridge
Four spoons, not five of mis-bought ‘Swiss-style’ muesli
Six fishermen cars, all of which are silver
and neither soul nor sound until an alien bouncy castle
smoke and smell of frying sausages
in the otherwise-deserted pub.

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