sonnets

Anita Greg

Untitled

Why do we have to stop talking about the rain last night ?
by any gauge a deluge on an epic scale
I do believe the car-parks washed away
lets put the News on shall we ? see if it's still there

I wonder - did we fix the guttering ?
the damp in the back bedroom's getting worse
the funny smell - I think it might be mice
it's since the council do not clear the drains
we should complain

What dear ? no I don't believe I did
see anything the like that you describe
so big and wrinkled - and a sort of grey
sit on our sofa as we watched the play

No dear - I can't explain the smear
and giant droppings on the axminster


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the one occupied house on the ghost estate

A young clarinettist attempts an arpeggio
a bumble bee lands on a blackberry flower
its furry round body is bending the petals
it takes what it came for and then it moves on

The tarmac is cracking though only a year old
a torrent of verdance is bursting up through
a thrush whacks a snail on a kerbstone as anvil
the sunshine is cooking a world full of shells

A wide-eyed young rabbit is nibbling roadwards
the hawk flying overhead doing the math
triangle - hypotenuse - speed versus distance
 rabbit oblivious - quaver in time

The swoop of arpeggio cuts through the air
 G minor of hunger and hurry and fear