What now?

A party conference moans in the background

Then a programme on loneliness

The wind is delivering an astonishing attack


What doomsday scenario looms in the clouds?

In the waving fronds of the bamboo, the whispering sycamores 
and the dangling keys of the ash trees is a hint of jeopardy

Someone has trimmed the eucalyptus, my friendly giant
How did they do it? It’s a hundred feet high

Beyond the blank page, the grey sky
and the blank day. What am I going to write on it?

The shimmering eucalyptus is a haze of blue green
The wind is whipping up a conspiracy

Later, the parakeets will come chattering by
By then, the day will have become a story