Four Poems

We lay in the spring wind
on a piece of waste ground
outside your block;

inside, your babcia,
a tiny martinet with a twinkle,
scoured the flat.

Great creamy clusters
of white lilac
fringed the parking lot

and tulips blew
behind allotment wire.
We walked through silver birches

and found a country restaurant,
with a porsche outside
and a cosy dining room
...