Ends

At the end of the day
I looked around at what I had gathered
as the 5 o'clock sun was casting that nice honey glow
over the patio.
There was a wicker table, two wicker chairs -
one recently vacated
by my friend from across the road
who's moving away next Wednesday.
There was a mug
a box of tissues
and an odd felt bird on a stick in a plant pot
which my friend had made in primary school
and which had been sitting in my summer house since we were ten
and thought it was a veterinary surgery.
There was a flimsy beach umbrella in a cheap plastic stand
casting a patch of shade.
When the shadows are long in my garden
and everything's golden in the evening sun
and my friend's moving away next Wednesday
I get sentimental
about felt birds
and the way we used to examine our guinea pigs with knowing looks
in our veterinary surgery in my garden.