• Sam Hacking


I’m passing a car that is the colour of sky overhead,

a chunk fallen from above,

if I look up there’ll be a gaping hole.

New spring leaves on trees

delicate and damp, just uncurled and poking out.

A phone battery on the floor.

Cigarette ends litter the street more than leaves.

Coots and people running in the park.

A Cabbage White butterfly, Pieris Rapae

flutters, jerking puppet on a string.

Willow Trees sag onto the path

A railing suspends a bike.

Difference between weeds and designated plants

Cultivation and purification.

Gentle throb of Narrowboats moving on the canal.

When you hear the sound of a hammer, it’s always the same pace and rhythm,

never frenzied or slow,

like the satisfactory ticking of a clock,

or the uniformed way we all swing our arms.

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