Still Life
A ladybird within a drop of dew
Tumbles down a blade of grass;
A ruptured spring upon the soil, which
Itself fell crumbling when the roots were plucked.
As if weeping insects was the garden’s
substitute for the rain dance
In areas where the turf was shaded.
And life is life,
And the rain is obliged
To the ditch two ways
As daylight shifts the
Aspect of life’s hydrogen basin to crown,
And naked thistle opens its throat.
Plastic terracotta plant pots
Shattered like venetian masks
Scatter at the curve of
A grizzled spade, which half
Disappears into a thrashed
Hedgerow, bleeding waxed
And bitter spade head leaves.
The decking chair sits out in the yard,
(A red broom lay propped against
The wall)
But its arms were sloped
As if resting on its legs in accomplishment
Of labour.
Green weeds lay strangling
Around its feet.
