Soup For One

Shared tables not separate tables | Better Lives for People in Leeds

I don’t remember what I wore
Or who sat next to me
I don’t remember who cried more
And who came just to see

I don’t remember hymns they played
The readings that were read
Or why he paused before he said
That you weren’t really dead

I just remember how you looked
When you slept next to me
The Sunday dinners that you cooked
And how you sipped your tea
Those corny jokes you always told
Which rarely made me laugh
How next to you I looked so old
In every photograph

I don’t remember telling you
To leave me all alone

I don’t remember telling you
I’d be fine on my own

I don’t remember

Bushwhacked

We have a hedge – when I say we

I’m merely being neighbourly

Which separates us from next door

We’re Number Two, they’re Number Four.

The hedge is green and not too tall

And forms a living, breathing wall

Which houses hedgehogs, snails and toads

Who are no match for busy roads.

The problem is, our neighbour’s plans

Involve a wall where our hedge stands

Three times its height and twice as thick

He’s done all the arithmetic.

Just think how private it will be!

I won’t see you, you won’t see me!

To me, this sentiment offends

Because I’d thought of us as friends.

His plan to rip the whole hedge out

This ‘eyesore’ he could do without

We thought he had it all in hand

Until we learned it’s on our land.

So now he doesn’t speak to me

Which happens when folks disagree

Their house is also up for sale

A sorry ending to this tale.

As for our hedge, it’s still intact

And here’s an interesting fact:

He’ll get his wish without a wall

For soon we won’t see him at all…

Hue and Cry

On the news they warn: the city’s now a combat zone

Turned off the TV and went outside to be alone

Some I know are marching, mostly peaceful, others not

Strangers now are asking me if I’m a patriot

Sitting in my garden, how I love the peace and quiet

I’ll fight for a cause but I’m not brave enough to riot

Everyone has history, the grievance lists are long

Who gets to decide whose version’s right and whose is wrong?

Our multi-coloured tapestry is starting to unweave

Can we not live together? Were we just being naive?

I come into my garden for the colours and the light

A joy I’d miss if flowers only came in black and white.

Creature Feature

pizza – Hungr Blog

When dining out we’re well aware

Our manners are on view

We open doors like Fred Astaire

Insisting… After you!

Which silverware to use and when

And how to hold a glass

While tackling pommes parisienne

Delineate one’s class.

But not so in the cinema

The difference is stark

Because it’s hard to be bourgeois

And crack nuts in the dark.

The lighting’s low so patrons know

When they’re not being watched

It’s fine to eat an Oreo

Retrieved from off your crotch.

You eat out of a bucket

Like a hog out of a pail

And when you’re done, you chuck it

Like a Molotov cocktail.

Wonder what life’s like inside

A real safari park?

Round up loads of humans

And then feed them in the dark.

Game of Cones

I have a dog whose name is Spark

Who sometimes takes me to the park

Where we enjoy an evening stroll

I feed the ducks; he’s on patrol.

An old pro, Spark knows all the tricks

From playing dead to fetching sticks

His latest one involves a scheme

Which bags him loads of free ice cream.

He’ll spy a toddler on his own

Who’s struggling with a waffle cone

One far too big for little hands

And all the balance that demands.

Spark uses charm and big, brown eyes

To get him closer to the prize

Then as he nears these little ones

That’s when he grabs the cone and runs.

I’m deeply saddened by each theft

And every howl from the bereft

Whose double-scoops of lemon lime

Perpetuate this life of crime.

The mothers round on Spark and curse

So I make sure they’re reimbursed

Which throws the whole plan in reverse

For he was taught to steal a purse…

Sole Mates

Handsome young runner tying shoelaces on the track in the spring ...

Park Guy

Running by

Catching everybody’s eye

Chiseled face

Killer pace

Never comes in second place

Hasn’t time to stop and chat

Training isn’t meant for that

Sprints past like a thoroughbred

Focused on the road ahead

You enflame

It’s a game

Will I ever learn your name?

Park Guy

Running by

Catching everybody’s eye

Less Cargo

SnailSnap Shows City Heat May Be Turning Snails Yellow - The Atlantic

Our friend, the snail, needs never pack

For all it owns is on its back

It heads out on the open road

Quite unencumbered by its load

Snails never need to book hotels

Instead they curl up in their shells

Emerging when they feel the need

To partake in an evening feed

We mock the snail, its sluggish pace

And yet some pay to watch them race

Ironic, say the French, and crude

Who view them solely as fast food