That
thing Spring does best;
launching
surprises on the senses.
Overnight,
bare ground turn artist’s palette,
clusters
of colour, like dripped neon toothpaste
flowers
painting their self-portrait in oils.
Today
it is the nose that is ambushed.
New
mown grass, fresh from the blade
clippings
tossed like salad
the
scent of rising sap making a promise
summer
will do its best to keep.
For
some reason, it always brings back
a
late afternoon in the seventies,
sprung
from school, football played
in
stretching shadows ‘til extra time
with
tea, not dinner and Mum waiting safe
at home.
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