The washing basket is empty
Upturned and acting as if a garden table
Mothers over the fence
With their pre-school children
Yard life, in what once was Middle-England
Show them love, show them care
Give them, without condition
These the most prized of possessions:
Conversation, explanation, temptation
A cuddle to follow a cry
Dispassionate words, from far too far a distance
The washing line hangs without life
No breeze to rock the duvet, or its cover
Poppies all flowered, out for the season
Memories west wind blown
To some other part of another England
Show them arrogance, show them fear
Give them, without explanation
These most prized obsessions:
Silence, doubt, nothingness
A final emphatic put down, just before they die
Compassionate words; far away from home, alone
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