January 4 2020

WEDNESDAY 22 20

Green shoots, spear sharp, in
beds in Reddings Road, under
bulbous pink blossom.

THURSDAY 23 20

Branches stitched in black
silk threads against a sky of
ochre, burnished brass.

FRIDAY 24 20

This time, I forget
to go out and see the new
moon of the New Year.

SATURDAY 25 20

In Poundland, I meet
Chris, who I once taught. Talk of
old times cheers me up.

SUNDAY 26 20

On the wrong side of
the road, I can see the school
fields through the railings.

MONDAY 27 20

In the early dark,
a shoreline of rain washes,
foamy, up the kerb.

TUESDAY 28 20

A small brown skull, not
archeological, but
a dropped potato.