WHAT’S THE TIME MR. WOLF?:

Three Magpies dance on the roof,
Watching me wake,
Spreading the news,

Three fat Black crows strut around the garden,
Hands in pockets,
Cigars & stove pipe hats,

A Thrush stands guard at the door,
Watching me suit-up, coat & scarf,
Warns the others,

A Woodpecker hangs off a nut cage,
Swinging in a plum tree,
Frantic to eat everything before I ruin the party,

Today’s bin is heavy,
Stuffed with un-recyclable things,
Hurts my arm as I pull it out to the road,

The track to the Black stuff is strewn with clumps of clay,
The Deer Herd leaves it in it’s wake,
Crossing between fields under the cover of night,

A water bottle expires in the grass,
Flat & burst,
Opaque from exposure,

A Coke can conceals it’s self in a ditch,
Red & sassy,
Classic livery,

A Buzzard watches everything,
Misses nothing,
On top of it’s private telegraph pole,

The telegraph poles travel hand-in-hand in lines across the fields,
Branded with the dates & times,
Cocooned in Hawthorn,

The dates evoke memories I hurt myself reliving,
Following the scent of creosote across the fields,
Travelling back in time.

(K)