The blossom’s out.
It’s sitting on trees the way it does
in poems that understand cycles and pink and blossom.
A man in red trousers is riding
his foldable bike at 8.30am one-handed
with six bits of 2×4 over his shoulder
and a Yorkshire Terrier is trotting
past a bakery’s open door like lyrics in song
that understand the moments
of a creature’s day. The grown ups are sitting
around a conference table. The colour of
untouched fruit is in front of them and their
smart casual tops as they desperately
discuss steps to wellbeing.
© Carl Burkitt 2023