It was a shock to see
a high-vis man
in the derelict plot next door
He was
out of scale in that wild place
We’d come to love this slither
of quiet green. It’d soon
become a meadow of our own
a private strip of nature
hidden away
in a busy inner-city suburb
Of its seasonal secrets
squirrels on show
tall buttercups
real red poppies
its birds (wagtails crows
pigeons wood pigeons
a song thrush robins
as many tits and you can tally)
it was for the family
of foxes we feared most
the man checked
plans clipped to his clipboard
kicked dew from the raised arch
of his steel toecap boot
pondered where to put the wood-chipper
as litter caught in branches above
lifted in the light breeze
James Bruce May studied at the Brighton Institute of Modern Music and read Creative Writing at Greenwich University and Goldsmiths College in London where he lives. His work appears online in Clear Poetry, Twisted Vine Literary Arts Journal, Gravel Magazine, Ink Sweat & Tears, The Stockholm Review of Literature, Spontaneity and in other journals. http://www.jamesbrucemay.com/
https://twitter.com/james_bruce_may
More work by James Bruce May
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