My Concrete Garden

 For me the grass would
Always be greener
On the other side
As I retire to sit
In the autumn sunshine
Enjoying a cigarette
And a milky coffee
In the back yard
And it is a yard
No grass to speak off
No rolling lawn
It’s been replaced
By concrete slabs
And red brick paths
Clothes line poles
Stand erect like
Sentry guards on patrol
Wheelie bins stores
That look like
Small cottages
Despite the season
There is some greenery
As weeds still
Squeeze and push
There way in between
The concrete cracks
Wildlife is scarce
Mainly slimy slugs
And the pigeon family
That populate the
Building next door
A decaying old theatre
That attracts bats
In the night
And crows by
The light of day
Colour is provided
A small child’s
Pink cycle with
Matching streamers
And wicker basket
Aches under the
Weight of ever growing
Orange crusty rust
A supermarket trolley
In silver and green
Sits in the corner
Like a lost soul
Francis has put
Her washing out
A display of
Multicoloured foreign flags
Flap in the cool breeze
Finally it’s
Saving grace
A single pot
With a single
Red rose
Complements the smoke
Coming out of my nose
I can relax for
A short while
Before cold nose
Fingers and ears
Drives me back inside
From my concrete garden