Three seasons in one long weekend: Friday,
it’s spring, Saturday summer, Sunday -
perfect for cricket.
By Monday it’s autumn and People’s Park is a time machine,
not blue, but green, so very, very green,
stretching all the way to October.
We’ll skip this lock-down summer
while the chocolate eggs are fresh
and They can still claim willingness of the flesh.
And the spirit holds
water in its hands.
On Victoria Street, smashed shop fronts wear wooden bandages.
scrawled across the blue shutters of a job agency.
Fairy god mothers are all dead
and blame is sprinkled from stock-piled confetti
onto front-line .
No pumpkins. No gowns.
Yet the park is green, so very, very green,
and the puddles of daisies, giants’ spit,
go on and on