There must be

worse things than standing

on the bank of the upper thames

watching the blue, red damsels

& dragonflies

hearing the buzzard call

among the trees

as it hides from the attacking crows

fat brown ducks bob

for whatever it is that ducks bob for

i’m waiting for the others

hell is others said sartre

& it is when I want to be

in the canoe

that bobs before me on the river

& sliding downstream to London

for now

all I have are the minnows for company

a developing thirst

& that gentle drone

that is the summer english countryside

insects on the wind

cars in the near distance

cows a couple of fields away

a pub somewhere with an open garden

& the lull of the river winding through

later we will chase a kingfisher

between the rivers’ banks

its flash of turquoise

a jewel rising, falling in the air

swans will hiss to protect their cygnets

& fish will pop the flat water

but for now

I must wait

& drink all of this in

for this is not my everyday

& to miss it

would be to miss the point

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