Wearing green and white
the cyclist changes into
another road sign.

Can we become friends?
I like your kind, shining face,
mild, mellow morning.

Light bulb rolling round
the uneven tabletop
draws a good circle.

Thick and sugary
as cake decorations, these
frozen spiders' webs.

Buying guitar strings
unplanned, Monday afternoon;
this is sweet freedom.

Stood at the corner,
air wafted past my face by
the bus to London.

He comes to the door,
hears the band and turns away –
fickle pussycat.

The chirp of my phone,
as a text comes, blends with the
birds' chorus at dusk.

Rumbling wheelie bins,
car alarms, a hungry cat –
our easy Reveille.

Liners, cargo ships,
pass en route to distant ports
behind the marsh reeds.

Thousands of seagulls
grouped on waves to watch dusk fall:
their little doomsday.

February dawn,
smoke across the winter sky –
the city's warm breath.

A patient pub dog
waiting by the table for
kingdom come or crisps.

Bright yellow sunshine;
pretty girl, past my window –
why's it not summer?

The fire's warmer
when I look outside and see
horizontal snow.