pine cones crackling by the riverside

blipaddee-doo-da
and off we go
sniffing out the tiny things
we don't yet know

the visible spectrum
for our dilated joy
side by side
just me and the boy

so to the show
of Glasgow in heat
an aquarium of flesh
of rare cooked meat

to 2 amber drinks
abandoned by lips
signal box made midden
by some street-tag artist

pink cherry blossom
against the seat of learning
a sigh of spring
on a Saturday morning

a saffron turban
on the telephone
a reader in the park
in a world of her own

and the ufo dome
is a glittering bin lid
on the biggest show house
we've ever had

jubilant cheerleaders
for a competition
stacked in pyramids
and a wee one flipping

upwards she's hurled
to the count of a voice
then caught and cheered
by the dazzle-wrapped noise

ohh, a rest
in the dappled shade
we hide
and hear pine cones crackling open
by this riverside
we sit and we listen
a crack crackcrack crack
spring time's metronome
ticking slightly off track

then first swallows of the year
the dip and wing-glide
dusting their wings
by the harbourside

and so the day unfurls
in expansive sway
in this walk around town
on our gladsome way.