double bass

matching red converses sported by two musicians

one carrys a backpack that, from behind,

disguises him as a walking double bass

reading

morning sunshine is the best light for reading in bed

resisting an afternoon nap

feet up on the sofa, warm and relaxed

struggling against the dark oblivion that

threatens to swallow me up

cyclists

six smooth slick cyclists swoosh past

and leave me plodding down to deepest Didsbury

sunset

the perfect time for a little stroll

with your dad and a green ice lolly

pink

the wrought iron gate is roughly painted

in baby pink and barbie pink

but it matches perfectly the rose in the garden behind

unloved

unlike the blackberries gathered with glee

the damson crop

sour and unloved

thoughtlessly trodden underfoot

becomes fruit mush across the pavement

wishing

there is a gap under the hedge, obviously well used

I wish I was seven again so I could hunker down and scoot through

piccadilly gardens

the cool air around the fountains is filled

with the shrieks of very wet children

keys again

I knock and wait patiently

it is very quiet

maybe no-one is home

no doors bang

no footsteps approach

no rustling of movement behind the door

then

just the tiniest of scratchings as someone strives repeatedly to put a key in the lock

out of body experience

a forlorn and disgruntled postlady stands on the street corner

seriously contemplating alternative careers,

but resigns herself to the job in hand,

consults the map, mutters expletives

and sets off down an unexplored road.

dried banana

I can't persuade her to say 'banana' but

she pops both pieces swiftly into her mouth

and with a winning smile

holds out both hands for two more