Hey, there you are.  I found you.
All along hiding in my backyard.

Up and down the High Street
amid the dense foliage
of Friday shoppers I chased.

You weren’t there.

A glimpse slapping at the ribs
of a broken home.
Hope.
Again you shrank
Until, dejected, I returned.

And here you are
emerald through the cup of tea steam.
Who knew?

Drum and bass - the engine revs,
Tyres grind and squelch into the hardpan.
The cab rises with a squall of angry breath,
Lurches forward with a shudder.

Wrought iron gates heaved shut
Hinges squeal like a pig, they are a pig.
Slamming metal resonates
In secure embrace.

Ugly black rubber stains the concrete -
Mascara on a cheap *****.
If the rumbling cages are food for the beast
Then I am stood in its bowels.

The sour smell of rotting food
Mixed with washing powder and bleach pollute.
Greasy plastic, rancid fat
Makes me recoil and retch.

In a gap in the tar she grows.
Raising her head to the sun in oblivious defiance

Time

Click
Shutter spirals to pin-*****
Framing negative past
On mind’s surface.

Flick
Light bulb  knowledge
Brands white hot incandescence
Into an otherwise black hole.

Tick
The gradual minute hand
Zooms by with a stutter
Of an eyelid.

Her fingers select a fire red fruit,
pausing to consume its perfume
before tantalising its blushing skin with pearl white teeth.

He stabs the flesh, attacking sinew and muscle,
Tearing a slab away
Shoving it into his cavernous hole.

Her lips set, mouth barely moving,
Tasting every flavour as she chews,
Delighting in the vibrant melody.

His teeth grind and crunch,
Flashing between greasy lips
In a snarl of carnivorous ecstasy.

It sits expectantly on the peg in the dim hallway
just above the miniature blackberry stained walking cane,
waiting to be pulled over that wonderful head
reigning-in errant silver, bushy brows framed.

In the pub in a cloud of smoke,
a pint of beer next to half a Guinness,
just up the road from a market stall
where it waited
A million Christmases ago.

Hide and seek,
bobbing along the top of the untrimmed hedge.
Coming or going – no difference
happiness wherever it goes.

Straining against the South Westerly
soaked in ocean rain
longs for the shoulder-carry from the beach and silly songs
sweat pouring, Friday fish and chips, tea in the ***
Radio 4, crosswords and roasts.

Beer Boys at The Cross Keys
money crams the table – chalk names filled to closing
so we moved next door

to The Jolly Trooper
where a crowd of old boys drank whisky and talked clod
over pickled eggs and ham

we thought the chatter would stop
but a worked hand ****** a glass deep into my palm
‘ere, aveadropuvthisun

amber smelling liquid
raised my lips in sour expectation
gone

fire from the hearth
autumn plums and American oak-soaked grape
sculpture a smile

it’s good       **** good
a clap on the back and a glug in my glass

Beer Boys at The Cross Keys
money crams the table – chalk names filled to closing
so we moved next door

to The Jolly Trooper
where a crowd of old boys drank whisky and talked clod
over pickled eggs and ham

we thought the chatter would stop
but a worked hand ****** a glass deep into my palm
‘ere, aveadropuvthisun

amber smelling liquid
raised my lips in sour expectation
gone

fire from the hearth
autumn plums and American oak-soaked grape
sculpture a smile

it’s good       **** good
a clap on the back and a glug in my glass