I left the hot glass building for the quiet of the car park,
mid-afternoon, for a cigarette, and sat
on a manhole cover on the parched, brown grass
listening to the bees, joyful that
beyond the reservoir, birds played among the sycamores.
On days like these, I thought, great deeds were done,
people made music and laid down arms.
Such was the power of light and sun.
But, I realised under that startling blue,
that, on days like this, there were also dragons,
and children, their eyes squinting in the bright glare,
had been herded into cattle wagons.
Previously published by Mockfrog Design Press,