May 4

SATURDAY 16 20

Above the trees, Old
Joe and the hospital could
be in a forest.

SUNDAY 17 20

The squirrel tips his
tail over his head, a hood, but
blackbirds still peck him.

MONDAY 18

On spiky, shiny
foliage, coin-shaped buds grasp
the petals within.

TUESDAY 19 20

In my painting, a
statue in a photograph
from last October

WEDNESDAY 20 20

Somewhere the whine of
a mower, lawns being shorn, dry,
brown, flat and threadbare.

THURSDAY 21 20

A solemn toddler
treads a tiny patch of mud.
Her mother watches.

FRIDAY 22 20

The pointy silver
birch is a witch thrashing and
flailing in the wind.