A suburban evening
and a casual cigarette in the garden.
Can there be more bliss?

All about is smoky late birdsong,
from those
who have best adapted
to our robust expansion.

“It is evening.
Everybody,
it is evening.”
sings the blackbird.

I flick ash on the floor
and toast the blackbird with a cough.

Phil Lucas

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-a-garden/