A grey veiled humour hangs on this New Year’s Day,
an unrehearsed pantomime I’m walking through,
wet hedgerows clipped, red berries broke,
squashed, scattered, lost amongst the uncut verge,
the dogshit and the broken glass.
As children scat down muddy slopes,
sodden wild clematis beards damply droop,
across the footpath and offer drips,
to bleary revellers as they stumble home,
in last night’s clothes.
© Graham Sherwood 2008
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