A Chair in the Back Yard
Greens flush with growth
these late sunny days.
Beets, kale, borage stand
a celebratory gathering.
How rich the colours of leaves
on fruit trees, before each leaf
falls onto damp ground,
a puff of breeze all it takes.
Autumnal, close to lost in winter.
The old man sits
on an aging repaired chair
its new struts weather
out there, with another day’s
lack of achievement.
Don’t think he’s forgotten
the planet’s problems
their magnitude, pressing
against this yard’s fragility.
There is a honey bee at work
on the late self-sown marigold.
A blackbird scolds from branches
of a neighbour’s tree.
Branches lean over the fence.
A few doors down, children
play. Their shrill laughter
and voices carry along the street.
Never far away, sirens.
© Pat White
Pat White
The Loch Raven Review 