From my window

The vividness of a wet red car
against the new-soaked green of fresh-mowed lawn
and baby hawthorn leaves

Quick-changing dawn

In the time it took to pour a pint of orange squash

the sun made pink mile-long scarves of grey

which lasted long enough for me to take two mouthfuls.

In the time it took to buy a morning paper

red-fleeced postman who lives on our estate

collects his waiting colleague and disappears.

Not cricket

Overripe plums, mostly red, some grey with mould,

scatter-patterned across the lawn

less than successfully bowled from the branches above.

Sod's law and stains

Is it that we never spill red wine on the crimson tablecloths,
or just that it doesn't show, as it does upon the creamy-beige?