Reverie

 

I’m fed up with the view

from my back window.

Wind blows, rain falls,

we never step

into the same garden twice

but things don’t change

that much.

 

Recycling is the answer;

the rainbow of bins

will swallow everything

out there : shed, grass,

manky bushes, plum tree

and I’ll start again.

 

Perhaps the council will freecycle,

disgorging unknown goodies

from truck to bin, restocking

my barren rectangle of earth.

I could end up with

a summer house, palm tree,

roses climbing the walls

up to my satellite dish

to feed in secret messages

from Monty Don.