John Osborne is counting ladybirds

“There are so few clouds in the sky 

I could fit them all in my pocket”

you said to me 

lying on the hammock in our garden


but I ignored you 

assuming you had heatstroke

or were tipsy after your third glass 

of Martini and lemonade. 


The sunshine had brought out a side of you 

I had never seen before

so tranquil, happy
that summer not once did you complain about your job

or how I never offered to help with the washing up.
You even picked flowers
from a meadow we discovered 

on one of our walks

you arranged the bouquet with such perfection
that when I joked we should both quit our jobs
and open a florists in the South of France

you bolted upright and for a moment 



both of us were there. 

Sometimes I think back to that summer

and wonder if we would still be together

if you hadn't woken from an afternoon sleep

and found me setting fire to ladybirds.