Monday, 20 March 2017

Red Lane

Leaves of comfrey loll like dogs’ tongues. 
A woodpigeon catching the sun with its breast 
hunkers down; on and in a terracotta chimney-pot, 
rather like a freshly-boiled egg sitting in an egg-cup. 
Two blackbirds take turns to nip at an apple-core. 
And everyone out feels a stirring of the juices,
with a large and impractical wooden spoon.

1 comment:

bandit said...

the last line - fitting. cheers!