Tiny pinprick holes
in the blind at the window
make constellations

Our visitors leave
down the valley side, to the
southern hemisphere

A job will be done
if, my baby, you always
laugh at cats and rain

Cut branches grow back,
weeds return to bared soil, with
something like fierceness

Oh angry driver –
someone should tell you you can't
pick fights with hailstones

A snail at the foot
of a tall tomato plant,
psyching himself up

3pm – the day,
like its first pint, now settling,
clarified at last

The dark brown waters
of the Humber's gaping mouth
don't notice my train

Disappointingly,
passing by Lord's cricket ground,
no six hits my bus

"We will never die,"
sing the band, while down the front
all the oldies mosh

Before the popshow,
after one more day at home,
the jangle of night

Between the baby
waking and starting to cry
there's a full moment

Not so much a drum,
more an endless paper tear,
the sound of the rain

Look at the seconds
ticking on the station clock,
try and make them stop

First song of the day:
the melodic tinkle of
cornflakes on your bowl

Having voted Green,
I leave the polling station;
traffic thunders by

Young couple parting
on a corner with kisses,
take my sadness too.

The door's wide open
but you opt to sulk indoors,
oh contrary bee

The garden is so
heavily teeming, you can
almost hear buds split