TUESDAY 17
A squirrel runs from
the undertaker’s where a
cat, long-legged, stands guard.
WEDNESDAY 18
A smudge of contrail
dissipates in the bright dome
of enamelled sky.
THURSDAY 19
Glittering silver,
white, grey, a murmuration
above the boating pool.
FRIDAY 20
Tails flash blue, each of
four magpies heckles the rest,
ready for a fight.
SATURDAY 21
Chalked slogans on
the steps in Victoria Square,
pale, ephemeral.
SUNDAY 22
Equinoctial
thunderstorms forecast, but in
the end it’s just rain.
MONDAY 23
Shower predicted
for three o’clock arrives on
the dot, and it pours.
Seventeen 