poems

Here's one... apologies for the language.

Learning French.

I automatically picked up the adult learning course brochure today. What would possibly be the point of learning French when you’ll almost certainly be dead in 2 years?

But I want to learn French.

However, also today, I cycled past a silvered, dead tree with crows perched on it in perfect Hitchcock fashion.

I smelt warm, damp green, the joy of wild honeysuckle, sweetness of cows and an unidentifiable pleasing tarry chemical.

I exchanged cheery ‘good mornings’ with everyone.

I passed pools of oily orange water, squirrels with monkey hands, a study in grey, of pigeons on the edge of a galvanized trough, flowering stinging nettles like pagodas, a rat the size of a beaver.

I heard the plop of a frog.

I pulled over to avoid squashing a dog and admired the clip of the westie and discussed its differing from Samson as regards energy and hair with the South African owner.

I stopped and chatted to Sarah-Jane and we laughed at the foolishness of life.

Fuck the French.

more where this came from..

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