TUESDAY 30
Inside the barbers,
a man points a hairdryer
towards his t-shirt.
WEDNESDAY 1
I wish I still knew
the names of trees. These might just be
sycamores, or not.
THURSDAY 2
Bluebells spill from the
garden to the verge, are crushed
there by wheelie bins.
FRIDAY 3
Town is like a ghost
town. Is it lunchtime yet? the
rag market man asks.
SATURDAY 4
As soon as I go
out to the Arboretum
to write, rain begins.
SUNDAY 5
Scone, and chocolate iced
sponge, with tea, on a pew, watched
over by stained glass.
MONDAY 6
Fork-tailed silhouette
of a red kite drops, brushes
our bonnet, flies up.
Seventeen 