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).