Poem 163: Romford

orange tree hill

in the pouring rain

a shining black and white

magpie stands

on the topmost branch

of a dark green fir tree

for an instant, she glows

against a very grey sky

and flies.

Romford Market

the children’s round-a-bout

empty, stilled

by a dead sparrow

and full of grey sky

and swirling leaves

and a young girl chasing

the pigeons

hungry as always

and undaunted by

the jingle of bells

they strut

and refuse to shop.