You're the final guest

You're the final guest
who won't let the party end,
lingering blue dusk.

I dream of drummers

I dream of drummers,
girls, and university;
wake up to Sunday.

Sunshine on wet roads

Sunshine on wet roads
and the perfect danger of
driving blind with you.

Cumbria becomes

Cumbria becomes
Yorkshire, as you sleep, on the
train from day to night.

Pouring down all day

Pouring down all day,
sandwiches in a car park –
absurdly it's fine.

Some window opens

Some window opens,
signal returns: a flood of
voicemail and texts.

All boots and greetings

All boots and greetings,
gathered in the village square:
four hiking magi.

Here's a huge basket

Here's a huge basket
where the logs were, and here's a
tiny pile of ash.

This magenta sky

This magenta sky,
this enormous marble moon,
this gorgeous, bright girl.

A freezing platform

A freezing platform:
trains heave out to London and
our breaths turn to steam.

Veiling the city

Veiling the city,
some obscure grey filter, with
no mist and no rain.

Sleepy post office

Sleepy post office,
unchanged since the 70s,
takes my gifts and stress.

Music, love letters

Music, love letters,
work and football scores – in the
blinking modem lights.

Working in silence

Working in silence
at home all day, it feels like
Christmas is elsewhere.

In the dark kitchen

In the dark kitchen,
bedtime suddenly delayed
by a scuttling mouse.

While the pub watches

While the pub watches
football, I look outside and
watch everything freeze.

Their trajectories

Their trajectories
lead off like firework sparks,
these blank Christmas cards.

At least this dreary

"At least this dreary
chatter can't get worse," I think,
then the train breaks down.

Drizzle and the dusk

Drizzle and the dusk
make the cityscape suggest
roses drenched in milk.

A long wait tonight

A long wait tonight,
wondering which will come first:
curry or Thursday.

Your ironic yawn

Your ironic yawn
mocks my toil all day long,
o my lazy cat!

As the last stall is

As the last stall is
packed up into a white van,
I reach the market.

White sky, bare black trees

White sky, bare black trees:
the eye, as much as the tongue,
hungers for cherries.

Let down your snow to

Let down your snow to
decorate humming Soho,
humbug evening sky!

Sky, hills, wind and night

Sky, hills, wind and night
all clamouring for roles in
these last few haiku.

Heavy rotation

Heavy rotation
for the music of hours:
pip, pip, pip, pip, pip.

Darkened with orange

Darkened with orange,
this glowing, laden sky is
just dying to snow.

Four-nil home defeat

Four-nil home defeat,
then beauty in the curves of
light and traffic cones.

After its mood swings

After its mood swings
the sky self-harms, this vivid
rainbow its fresh scar.

Throwing bottles in

Throwing bottles in
the recycling bins: the best
substitute for war.

Either you are from

Either you are from
another planet, or else
this world's not so bad.