Another Pandemic Spring



my forced hyacinth

is cloying and sickly

sweetest blooms turned sepia

in a wash of melancholy

like sunbathing topless

in a patch of warmth

trousered against sea air

carrying salt

to cold puritan beaches

where around every corner


might hold witches after all

hungrily sunbathing

in sickly-warm memories of spring

healthier hyacinths

better days

Using words from Kerry’s March list on Instagram

Reminder that I share stuff there too @runawaysentence