4. andrew marvell died

The garden looks at me with ill disguised contempt
The grass grows long with disapproval
A broken wheelbarrow rusts under the tree
Impatient for its own (never-going-to-happen) removal.

The flowerbeds look sick with hate
The daffodils nod in mute condemnation
The potted plants and vegetable patch
Are demanding an immediate explanation.

The cat quietly tells me I’m a twat.