Sunday 12th February



Essex out of character,
Is unusually dower,
As I step off the train into a bitter wind,

The voice on the phone is struggling,
Going down the rabbit hole,
In a Birmingham state of mind circa ’73,

From screen to page,
From mouth to ear,
Satchmo singing ‘Summertime’

Too many flats,
Too many sharps,
Too many people without names.


3 thoughts on “Sunday 12th February

  1. Looks like you’ve been busy pruning a tree Karl, work I find of such benefit to body and spirit. There’s that hope of bringing a struggling tree back to life and the prospect of rich pickings of fruit and wood later on.

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