Fraser
On a Monday afternoon in spring,
the tart odour of asphalt
from a new-laid road, and, new-mown,
the tang of verge-cuttings,
hang in the air as I linger
(getting off work early again)
in this light industrial zone
by the brimful Fraser,
and I ride the bus home
and see the people I might have been:
children slouching home from school,
an elderly lady trying
to bring in a red wheelie-bin,
or that man forking his lawn
thru a down of cherry blossom,
on a Monday afternoon in spring.
welcome back sir
enjoyed reading that very much
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Posted on 22-Apr-05 at 10:03 pm | PermalinkYes, I liked that too.
But please try not to leave us for so long.
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Posted on 22-Apr-05 at 10:03 pm | PermalinkHooray!
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Posted on 22-Apr-05 at 10:03 pm | PermalinkIt’s actually a lot of fun being an occasional blogger; like an occasional table, but in fewer homes.
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Posted on 22-Apr-05 at 10:04 pm | PermalinkOh fine.
As long as it’s fun for *you*.
I mean, that’s all that really matters here, isn’t it.
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Posted on 22-Apr-05 at 10:05 pm | PermalinkNorah Pot, meet Menace Kettle?
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Posted on 23-Apr-05 at 12:00 am | PermalinkIs the title Pom or Porn? I’m honestly having trouble making it out.
*worries about possible cataracts*
If it’s the latter, I’m disappointed.
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Posted on 24-Apr-05 at 11:04 pm | PermalinkI enjoyed that.
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Posted on 25-Apr-05 at 3:05 am | PermalinkLovely. Very mixed emotions, I thought - hopeful and wistful.
(Thank goodness your taste in trainers is still crap.)
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Posted on 25-Apr-05 at 11:05 pm | Permalinkwhat a Poet,
he’s not so weird,
maybe more wine,
and we’ll be fine.
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Posted on 26-Apr-05 at 6:01 am | Permalink