On Father’s Day

On Father’s Day he used to pretend he wasn’t bothered but mum told us he used to smile to himself and tell her he loved us. Later we found every card we ever sent him in a plastic bag inside a box inside another plastic bag. We think they were in year order.

The snow hushes

The snow hushes my complaints as it slushes off my umbrella. “We’re sorry”, it says, “we’re April snow but we didn’t know”. It lies at my feet, is translucent and melts. Over the wall the river is rising, brown foaming.

I like the snow but now I’m bored

I like the snow but now I’m bored. The dog’s been sick and the cats have clawed the sofa. I’ve run out of milk, I’m out of tea, no, I know it’s no disaster but it’s close enough for me. I’m grateful to the neighbours – the ones who’ve called – I love the snow but now I’m bored.