An Everywhere Poem: Sunday Afternoon
Mr Whippy
is in the neighbourhood.
Pop Goes the Weasel
echoes from red brick,
through open windows.
Ice cream weather
has returned.
The sun is shining again.
The tune drifts on,
turning corners,
finding gardens,
opening old summers.
By the time
it fades,
the street is sweeter
than before.
Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up.
Some images created with Midjourney. Writing is my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.
It's Still Life 
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