On a warm bright day in March

In the precession of the anthropocene equinox

Before the clocks were turned back to thirteen

On the pavement opposite

Beneath the quiet mock Tudor flats

And the frothy white blossoms

And the dusting of green hints of Summer

On bare late winter branches

Three figures like a tiny carnival.

A Spring Procession too early for an Easter rebirth.

A lardy man in the lead

Carrying a white frame for windows

In meaty carpenter’s hands

With rectangular spaces for icons of various sizes

Frames within frames.

A Mum in a headscarf hauling a rope

Pulling a happy boy on a big green bulldozer

His legs lazily turning with the pedals

Venus and Cupid?

Madonna and Child (in a material world)?

A second, back up Mum behind

Keeping pace with a determined jaw

Pushing a three wheeled heavy duty push chair

A Chelsea tractor of the pavements.

Together becoming more than the sum of their parts

All heading East in single file, equally spaced, equally paced

Finding significance in coincidence.

With thanks and apologies to Rudyard Kipling (How the Rhino got his skin) and George Orwell (1984 opening lines).