The Outsider

It’s Monday and they’re here
The bluebells I mean
Their timid arrival trumpeted
By one final clarion call
From some sheepish looking daffs
Like stragglers from yesterday’s marathon
The Crataegus monogyna
blossom spatters
Nettle leaves and ivy making
Polka-dot pattern below eyeliner
Stagnant millpond water wafts
I’m not going to beat myself up
Over rhyme and reason
Just walk and observe
Flinching briefly at the sight of a gnarled
Pendulous snail hanging from a twig
Twisted black plastic bag
Doggy do doggy don’t
A document of owners urge to forget
Birdsong drifts through the trees
Mingling with human utterances
Pastel polo shirts glimpsed between branches
Titleist specs upon the fairway visible
If Camus had been a golfer would he have felt?
More connected?


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