That thing Spring does best;
launching surprises on the senses.
Overnight, bare ground turn artist’s palette,
clusters of colour, like dripped neon toothpaste
flowers painting their self-portrait in oils.
Today it is the nose that is ambushed.
New mown grass, fresh from the blade
clippings tossed like salad
the scent of rising sap making a promise
summer will do its best to keep.
For some reason, it always brings back
a late afternoon in the seventies,
sprung from school, football played
in stretching shadows ‘til extra time
with tea, not dinner and Mum waiting safe at home.