An exercise plucked from nowhere, and somewhere,

Stannington Place

It was a green as spinach day
the day I meant to tell you.

Your hair was sprawling and
the toaster had just popped.

We could always see the street name
but today it loomed large

from the kitchen window.
Something stopped me. Perhaps

it was the butter
I was just about to spread

or the clash of colours
I was dressed in all of a sudden

coming clear in the sun. It had risen
earlier, but I only just noticed it then.