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Summer in Grandma’s garden

It is summer in Grandma’s garden,

we wipe the white plastic garden chairs with a damp cloth,

position them carefully so the legs won’t wobble

and take a deep breath

as Aunty Doreens’ ample bottom

fills the spaces at the sides.

We drink tea and eat biscuits

share news and stories of relatives

too far and distant

or too busy

to sit and enjoy the sunshine.

We put the world to rights

with opinion and argument

and are mimicked

in the imaginary games

being played on the lawn.

Grandma’s small grey statue of a boy –

minus his head once again,

is relegated to a corner of the dilapidated green house,

an anchor for cobwebs and forgotten memories.

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