Pegs crumble as I squeeze them on the line
that spiders claimed, reluctant evictees.
Nine months away, and the garden's a deep
wave of green disdain, the wild raspberry
canes held their own among the tall grasses
that apple trees wade, still holding high globes
streaked with red to signify sweet ripeness
then plump thumping kindred on the unseen
floor, that beckons them short shrift as ever.
Credit card's the king while isolating,
but if I were poorer I would cheat, trudge
to Aldi with backpack, sin, take the chance,
rather than starve with virtue, dry the throat.
Oh save us from the online order - Wot?
No black grapes, no granary wholemeal? Shitfcuk.
You are on the other side of the globe.
And I in my tiny retreat, tripped up
by the thorns and the bindweed, overwhelmed
by the big bad beard of the unkempt hedge,
that will train my forearms with the shearing.
