On my way to buy a morning paper #82

Reading this week about ravens –

the death of one, the threat should they all leave –

the crumpled blackness in the centre of the road

brought apprehension.

Closer, small relief:

only a gold-lettered M&S bag,

recently discarded.

Fifteenth of the month

Not a quadruplicate of babies' skulls

November coloured

eyes and mouths rehearsing Christmas carols

e’en as they lay, battered in the gutter

but an egg carton, fog-sodden and forlorn

Potential for annoyance

What I momentarily took to be a large rising moon (in the wrong place) was a plastic bag caught in the high branches of a tree opposite my window.   I know it'll sit there for weeks, cluttering my view of the sky.