Roundabouts and Roses

At the far-end of the bypass,
opposite the garage you’ll find it
in all its dubious splendour –
an English country garden in the round,
for those with eyes to see,
at the point where five roads meet
and where no man dares to tread.

Nodding gently in the breeze,
Sweet Peas, Ladies Delight,
London Pride – Grandmothers' Bonnets,
in pink and blue profusion abound,
paying no heed to the tooting
of taxis and exhaust fumes.

Snapdragons with their red
and purple faces pucker up
their lips – vie for attention
midst clumps of Black-Eyed-Susies
soaking up the sun; choosing
to turn the other cheek to the growl
of the lorries and raucous roars
of leather-clad motorbike geeks.

A kind of oasis – sown here
by the wind perhaps, in a fit of pique,
inviting us to stop and think –
smell the roses ... For now at least,
in this our green and pleasant land.