"11:11, make a wish"

 soft brome frames your almond face
as you stare into the sunset

face pouting around the strawberry
you’re biting in half to share with me

out on the edge of the world
or in a field in Buckinghamshire

where rebel strands of coffee black
break loose from their bun to swirl

between flickering dandelions —  
your glacial eyes bejewelled

to sapphires in the gleam
of the day’s dying embers.

“But you mustn’t tell anyone,”
you whisper,

“if you tell then it won’t come true,”
before handing me my half with a smile

the gordian knot

it sits squat
at the centre
of my brain

a cloistered fist
pulsing with crude
thudding outward

sometimes as whispers
sometimes as shouts
sometimes it walks me

out to that pub
at all hours
to polish a stool

and raise one glass
too many in the company
of strangers

while I wonder
if I'll ever meet
an Alexander

great enough
and whether he might
pay off my bar tab

break early

why be consigned
to the slow rot
of time and tears

that rends a ruin
of all your beams
and brickwork

to be gawked at
by tourists
and dust brains?

it costs nothing
to shrug and let
your slim facade

reveal its roots
of earth and ore
and be rebuilt

on solid ground
by the few
who turn up

my little old lady

the first thing you notice
is she just appears 
no footfall to announce her
no clearing of the throat 

roundly wrinkled
like a soft peach
an aged ninja
in magenta jammies

pushing a trolley
down my aisle
in slippered feet
like she owns the place—

we haven't seen her
back for some time 
maybe there's a Lidl
closer to home

pareidolia

burnt the toast
let the bath run cold
was late getting out
to work tonight

and a million other
tiny things conspiring
to set this hurricane
in motion

and me at the eye
of the storm as all
my worldly goods
are flung from reach