Peppermint Aero Chutney
It was a fortunate misreading
the kind that over-rides the first
dull meaning in a magazine:
four tigers in a frame.
I see them painted by Rousseau.
One gate at least hangs open:
There's a barrier, ten foot tall,
of dull wood painted green,
where the flowers and pathways were.
The overwriting hand is poised.
I think of William Blake,
his birthplace up the concrete steps.
There's an old VW convertible
that often parks round there,
yellow as a plastic bee.
No shop front that I pass
and pass again is ever the same:
blue as surreal ceramic.
Why does latte come out black?
With spikes up close, they look
bigger than church steeples.
A lemon nestles among the apples.
Being very sorry, or just being...
Acting up or just acting...