sunday

sunday 

locked in dogs

barking at the moon

feral builders

nailing the afternoon 

visitors pollinating 

the promenade seats

dead men’s elegies 

where the widows meet

afternoon chatter

needling the groove

stuck and stuttering 

it’s time to move

on to where

the cabbage whites are dancing

over nasturtium flowers 

poppies growing taller 

in the midday hours

the cat stretching long

on the wooden decking

i dream of the old days

in the sand dunes necking

and when dusk

the shunter 

ushers me inside

i think of billy bunter 

ahh

this is where i abide