A wail of bagpipes and bash of drums
from the Safeway car park
breezes over the row's slate roofs, to our garden
where we sit.  The striped deckchairs
are dusty and haphazard on the chuckies.
Mum's white washing waves on the warm air
Vicky snoozes on the patio, curled on her cover,
her nose wetly twitching and one floppy ear.
Gordon, tanning a coconut sheen, sits quietly reading,
lips pursed in a blue and gold checked shirt
as the air drifts his edges to and fro.  Rooks caw
and a baby's voice gurgles over the high hedge,
a ball lurching in the lane, echoes the wall
while at the housefront, motors groan -
engines and children both
complaining at the heat.
Bottles clink as someone walks to the bank
and someone else sweeps their garden path
with a regular swish, shuffle, swish.
Here, little flowers nod and dip in clumps
of pale purple and the birds around us talk
twittering although they can't be seen.
A warmly smothering, freeing afternoon -
last taste of a place we will soon be leaving.
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