Still

the world grinds on
little has changed

for me
the day is a tunnel

for you
the sky a uniform blue
daffodils vibrant
green leaf dewed
ozoned
a breeze to fly a kite
or sit on a quarried wall
to fend off gulls
who’d snatch
the sausage from your breakfast sarnie
if you gave them half a chance
to do it again
and at the thought
you feel
the flash of a wingtip brush your cheek
beneath your wide brimmed hat
that kept the red off your neck

for me
a plod from day to day
wherein it’s all too much
and the bastards have won
and the bastards in power
are as bad
as the bastards kicked out
who’d do just the same
if you let them
again