The talking can of pilchards.

The gravel

the grovel it won’t happen again

the white cliffs and a television

on a very long cord

the left over pilchards

the cans that are telephones

lets go rock climbing

on rockerys until

we are old enough to fly

to the real thing

A koi carp carnival

and going for a swim

the herons here night fishing

save the carp adopted by

The people with mushroom houses

dancing under a sprinkler

as the sun goes down

the shire is fixed

Streetlights the buzzing sound

glass bowls

The miniature fish in my hand

curling up

mercurys in retrograde

Love hearts and bonfires

there’s lady under

her apple tree eating maggot apples

the splinters in fingers

bamboo forests tying knots in the ground

rings on her old fingers

tea in a pot

cakes and theses

peoples sticky fingers

She’s aware of the towns lot

they auctioned off the lot

Her rickety old table

the clocks stuck

be a dear and wind it on

your be fine see the cups clear