she pikes the washing line
to catch a drying breeze
above the void of next doors fence
sending out the flagged signal
to the flotilla of bungalows
at anchor in the cul-de-sac
the borders need wedding again
chickweed and docleaf peep
around the sprawl of lavender
the radio in the kitchen
has some old boy gabbing
about his childhood in an orphanage
she take a rubbery carrot stick
scraped from last nights tea
for bubble and squeak - and sees
the hopping leap of the wagtail
The Blue Book
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