Watermelons grow
He speaks of windows and mirrors and sighs. But this evening bears a trail of poppies trip over smoke looking for a reflection in a tin foil mirror hoping to be a window of some sort . Today at the train station I sidestepped a dead bumblebee and a dead wasp laying on the stairs only this time I did not pick them up as I usually do, but I saw them anyway, two winged rivals in one day, dead both dead by causes unknown. I wanted watermelon on the way home but it didn’t wait for me in the fridge and my first use for my new set of paintbrushes was instead to roll a pipe to draw out sighs. My mind wanders to the my bramble garden knowing from this morning there are a few less nettles, a few more stings, and it’s thinking of live bees by lavender singing “ down by the baaay, where the watermelons grrrooow , back to my home, I dare not go, for if I dooo, my mother will saaay, ‘did you ever see a bee with a sunburned knee?’