I apologise for this continued interruption of normal service. Reed’s current excuse is that she dropped a box of books on her toes at work today. Though what the hell her feet have to do with her typing abilities I don’t know.
Meanwhile, here are two miniscule fragments of verse to be getting on with:
Mirror
I cannot wash this face
So early in the morning.
Sleep still needs it back.
Hymn for a Workday Morning
Dressed, shod, aching with breakfast,
The radio still picking fights in the kitchen,
The kitchen itself reproachful with crumbs,
The rain now lurking outside,
Wrong coat, wrong shoes, to face it,
And no still small voice of calm
To take me back,
Or send me forth.
Ag, both of those made me think.
You should spend more time on poetry. Just my humble opinion.
The mirror one in particular is a lovely conceit.
Lovely, Ag.
More time on poetry? Really?
Thank you. All three of you.