day long weeding
the last dandelion
under my bench

allotment bolt-hole
the retired policeman
shares some advice

strewn around
the fly-tip
moorland daffs

leaving for London
the dawn chorus
sees me off

bouncing above
in the tractor cab
the farmer's shoulders

lazy rain
the solitary blackbird's
dawn chorus

tucking her in the extra deep breaths

whimpering
a dog tied to
the hospital

finding
the monster
an MRI
zaps my head
into slices

(approximately 7 years since my MS diagnosis and 11 years since my first major relapse)

night before the eclipse
the setting sun
puts on a show

the village 'character'
chatting to everyone
her yawning dog

war exhibition
the crawling toddler
has lost a shoe

(Weston Park Museum, Sheffield. 22 Feb 2015)

Sunday morning
the passing conversations
of joggers

bobbing above
the kids' pool
his hipster beard

expecting their first
the couple opposite
ironing baby-grows

feeling better she asks to die

It's eight and a half years since my mum died but these poems still pop up with some sort of regularity

halfway to the car park the away end's noise

out of the cup
yet all the way home
she sings blue moon

two nil down
gleefully my daughter
tallies the swearwords

after the thaw
her snowdog
still waiting