Cold Paradise

As bitter as a Seville orange,

the wind bites and blows

the plastic bags and cans

around the rusting wheelie bin.

A skeletal pye-dog cocks a leg

absently rusting already tired metal;

an alien number plate rushes past

- children late for class-

by a year and ten minutes.

A lone and grubby child’s sock

fruits a bedraggled bush;

the sun cannot return

soon enough to save it.