Party

Seventies sounds slide from
wet speakers under tarpaulin,
revealing our average age.
Whilst pretty youth hangs out,
brushed ordinary by inclemency,

LED fairies wrap happily
around huge balloons,
wafting in idle dance,
and gauze obscures a newborn
suckling, haunted by a nipple.

As adversely politiced pairs
set the drunk planet keeling,
I’ll take my leave, followed by
more grizzled absconders,
yearning decaf with our cake.

Garden Party

Today, midweek, I’m garden chilling,
no pesky mean metal mamas mowing,
they are the weekend boys.
Nope, just me and the big blue sky
and hey, you know what even?
That old Sun is shining.

Then what happens? Dang.
Those flaunty sparrows tip the Tit and Jay
I’ve got seed!
and that’s the end of peace for today.
They get so close I am moving up!
In my own garden! Seriously.

But this is not the main deal yet –

Well bless my odd socks,
the entire ‘nature thing’ begins
make the biggest darn racket ever:
bees bumbling, crows cawing,
old man Slug chewing on me lupin…
My garden so loud the world is rocking!

Well, think on it. Be churlish to vamoose.
This is some kind of party, maybe?
Nature doing what Nature does pretty well.

So

I am coming out, creepy sneaking
from under my pot. Segments waving,
fourteen hip dancing legs grooving at a time.
Get with Nature’s freaky beat,
Coz, creatures, we are the party!
we are the real deal.

I’m telling you. Come on down my garden!
Give it some WOODLOUSE WELLY!