Tea flows like the River Thames,
While tutting spreads like wildfire
At queue-jumpers
And umbrella-shirkers,
As passive-aggressive notes flourish
Like ivy on garden walls
A POLITE NOTICE:
Your parking leaves much to be desired.

———

Digestive biscuits dunk and drown
In piping hot Tea at 4 o'clock sharp,
Followed by a national moment of silence,
As Scones wage their silent war
Devon versus Cornwall;
The cream-first heretics
Face jam-first purists,
While the cucumber sandwiches mediate,
Their crusts banished like medieval traitors.

———

The weather forecast foresees
Cloudy with a chance of small talk,
And a 90% probability
Of complaining about the weather.
Shorts and sandals brave December,
While summer coats guard
Against the August sun,
And somewhere, someone
Is wearing socks with sandals.
Ooh, Suits you, Sir!

———

Red buses pass red buses
Followed by a ritual of waiting,
Until the bus arrives
Five minutes late, of course.
While Big Ben counts the moments
As patience is wrapped in politeness,
Where every grumble is a nod,
Until the next apologetic shuffle.

©️Lizzie Bevis

We grip the day like a child grips
a parent’s hand,

trusting the pull forward,

but night comes, dark and wet,

a mouth of fears opening wide—

we fight inside it, each breath a battle,

and by morning, we are raw,

but whole, stitched together by the sharp

thread of surviving ourselves.