Sunday 8th May



She walks with folded arms, homegrown hair, sculptural, solid.
Perfect picture, snow white, crisp & clean, eyes concealed
behind bug-eyed shades circa 1968, did nothing for me then either.

I heard you on the radio, still alive, like a satellite.
Cars removed their roofs, squeezed into tiny spaces, waved
to one-another observing Summer’s etiquette, following
languid curves. The backs of molten black-top snakes rippled.

Listening to Maja S. K. Ratkje


8 thoughts on “Sunday 8th May

  1. Summer has arrived! 5:30 wake up with a low humming in my open window, like a Chinook with engine trouble. My cats go into a hunting frenzy, things flying left and right. One huge Wasp trying to settle on the inside of the East facing window to try and warm up enough to fly properly. I capture it and put it outside only for another one to appear. Tidy up and cup of tea, feed the Cats, hello Sunday.

    • Ella and Louis always bring the sunshine. I’m without a cat for the time being, so please give yours an extra pet for me.

      • Life is not complete without a cat =^.^= I shall pet both of them πŸ˜‰ Hope you are well Dave.

      • Thanks and same to you, Karen! (“Dave” is derived from my surname, but having once been a schoolgirl with a Bowie haircut, I’ll happily answer to it.) πŸ˜‰ Cats enhance our lives in so many ways and I’ll forward to another one whenever it’s time. Purrs and best wishes.

      • Not at all! It happens often because I deliberately chose an androgynous handle years ago when venturing onto the big bad Internet. Didn’t mean to cause offence in return.

        Finally cleared away enough boxes to set up the stereo. “If Rah” for the first time on a proper system as I type. Karl, she’s a beauty. I’m celebrating tonight.

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