Poem #2,815 | That land I knew

That land I knew – twice a
day at least – thickness of
green & slipping ups [over
abrupt banks] – Instead of
such mis-adventures I will
stick to tarmac’s grip as a
route – My view from over
this road [front-top-deck]
to your city’s open spaces
[off this 29 route] speak a
summer of rain – greenery
a given – parched lawns a
last year thing – how each
season alters these days –
how nothing is rooted in a
pattern by weather charts
on forecasts – deniers will
gush about a cool summer
& then run from an English
monsoon – I’ll keep to hard
surfaces & avoid slippings