Picnic at our River?

Myriad of colonies in perfect balance,

the willow a home for Rat.

Threat of bricks and mortar looming.

Rubber soles.

Printed paper from concrete forests of expansion signal a flood.

But this is ours.


Kingfisher and dogwalker morning greeting;

flashes of electric honesty skimming the shallows of Spring

bringing a gift, an offer of peace and love.


Branches for Poohsticks and fetchsticks,

cascades of murky micro-life

awoken by the doggie paddle and the welly paddle.


Under the bridge, a troll lives.

Echoes of commute rumble

as children paint their hands in water on crumbling brick;


a vanishing spoor, staying just long enough to witness

squeals of delight

at numb toes and floating nature,

a caboodle in grasping fingers.


All too soon an endless day in the sun elapsed

Quick! Out!

Leave the bridge-dweller’s den…the lender revokes, a mistrust has awoken.

A trudge, a toil, a sorrowful goodbye

to a boundless life veiled once more.


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