Little Blue

The hand of man

has drawn thickly

over the lap

of this land,

and

into dark corners

it has pushed

concrete and asphalt

like vaseline

before its setting thumb.

And on this hardboiled

lumpen rock

I grind my feet to dust.

But beside the 
clanging grey

of this combed road

a pepper of blue -

little blue -

picks up the sky

and throws it back.

No matter where

I find my feet,

no further away than a rat

will be 
some fragment of blue -

regardless of the grimy day.

Look now

and you’ll see it too

- little blue -

the ripped corner

of a wrapper,

a button,

the lid from milk,

full fat,

a rejected smartie,

a frenzy of massacred

chip forks,

and the elbow-pleated straw

from Terry’s

Ribena.