TUESDAY 15
The Platinum bus
is broken. It’s the bumpy
35 instead.
WEDNESDAY 16
On the pavement, one
prone, inspecting the manhole,
the other watches.
THURSDAY 17
Sun is too bright to
look up above rooftops, shade
too cold to walk in.
FRIDAY 18
On the bus screen my
turquoise beret is bright blue,
the tarmac cobalt
SATURDAY 19
Pansies pooled with rain,
shrubs in puddles. Daffodils
shooting from the mud.
SUNDAY 20
The sky, window frames
and walls are white. Nothing is
like, everything is.
MONDAY 21
A leaf sitting on
the rhodendron turns out
not to be a bird.
© Jacqui Rowe
Seventeen 