2035: After Snow

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  • 2 min read

We always have snow
in late March – around
my birth-date [9 days
after a sibling – he still

won’t talk to me] – TV
doesn’t do loose plot-
lines [I arc on walks &
so I always convolute]

Buxted Park slopes to
geese-grey ponds – in
each pool lurks tench
[bold signs limit sport

to members] – I guide
my dog from her auld
desire to swim – she’ll
reek if let in [& I recall

a friend – she stripped
to her matching set of
bra & knickers to save
her poodle from 4 feet

of water [never filmed
then] – a few years on –
in YouTube clicks – her
husband was dragged

from a similar fate – as
he swam out to sea – a
flagged attempt to pull
that same dog back – a

story with a tidy end -I
digress] – I’ll rotate my
plots ‘til tumble-dried –
as my walk [post-snow

in early April] drags up
my inconstant spoilers
& recalls – My memory
palace is full of echoes

[of clatter-heels – strike
of cobbled soles] – that
rattle – but here we are
stepping slowly in mud

& talking [as if we have
known each other for a
while] walking circular
ways to our probability

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