ideal

Potted Pastoral

....................................................A garden and this hosepipe. A yellow, rubberised snake looping around the grass.
..................................................................The sun shines down on me, ultraviolet sparks water to glass—
..............................................................................Light daggers fall, pitter-patter piercing the ground,
.............................................................................Thud splish thud splish into the pots, as all around
.........................................................................................Rural paradise is planted and created,
......................................................................................All of that green for which we all have waited.
.........................................................................................Fence round it, say “this is my domain”,
..................................................................................................Pot miniatures just the same.
...............................................................................................................Eden in ceramic
.........................................................................................................For the modern manic,
............................................................................................................Unaware of the truth,
.........................................................................................................But ready with “forsooth!
......................................................................................................We have a swain and maid
.....................................................................................................Frolicking through this glade
....................................................................................................With sheep and bells array’d...”

And all that stuff
We love so much.

........................................................................Our paradise must be artificial, for gardens must be sheared;

................................................................ Control our divine right, ....................................... (Yet at the dead of night
................................................................ Control what could be feared;............................. Foundations seem upreared:
................................................................ Foresee a coming drought.................................. All is lost through foresight.
................................................................ And march on ‘til next year................................... These roots grow under here.)

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Probably my favourite

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