NEIGHBOURHOOD

Half past eight and a cruel mouth
On its way to unlock the shop
Passing where workmen
Are already digging up the road.
‘Good morning. Lovely day.’

And there is Pam with her two dogs
heading for the Green,
Alone since Reg died three years past
But now she seems to have more space.
‘Good morning. Lovely day.’

Peter’s out, working on his drive
A newcomer in the neighbourhood,
Crippled by arthritis twelve months back, he says,
Cured since by some wonder drug.
‘Good morning. Lovely day.’

Celia hurries down to catch a bus,
perpetual motion is her other name;
She has the road’s most pristine house
Where Bob watches TV all alone.
‘Good morning. Lovely day.’

And here’s the newsagent’s shop
Ready to sell the papers of one’s choice.
This is a morning one-stop shop
To see the World and greet it with one voice.
‘Good morning. Lovely day.’

March 1996