Tiny Rivets by Jack Charter
We saw trees and cyclists
and strange glistening stalks
that you said looked poisonous
as you shifted your blue skirt
away from them.
It was a good day.
Not a day we’d hacked away at
and scarred with plans.
There were trees so hollow
we could fit inside them
and you took a picture.
I kept looking at your bangles.
The sense of decoration and beauty.
The beads on your handbag, or your bangles
and their tiny rivets
I heard the ash cloud from Iceland
would make beautiful sunsets,
peach with pink streaks across.
There wasn’t one
while we were in Richmond Park:
the sun set much later.
Contact him at jackcharter @ gmail . com (with no spaces)
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