Sunday roast

Sunday Dinner

It was on an impulse I went to visit
my brothers’ at noon a fine Sunday.
No answer, but the door was open
I walked in food on the table, still
warm. Mary Celeste, I thought and
served myself.

Their garden looked enchanting
bushes full of red berries, I turned
on the water sprinklers and left;
heard a scream, thought it came
from their neighbour’s garden and
took no notice.