Oh happy day of laundry and scrubbing,
dusting the grit of the week to the floor,
as the TV murmurs through the walls,
Sunday lingers in the hall, and is all of a leaning.

Oh mellow hour of kitchen cutlery,
Sunday light, switches on the landing
between midday, dusk, then darkening evening,
we organise the chairs, like hotel stationary.

And the wind is rustling in the tall bamboo.
Boxes of your life are sat in the lounge.
I take a call as the night ticks down.
There’s no time now to watch cartoons.

Sunflowers grow longer than a month of Sundays.
The week gathers, with all of our beloveds
and all our misdemeanours.

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Winter Poem

November 25, 2012

Chiminea, now you see her, covered
over by a PVC black liner,
like a condom, on a chimney.
a nurse’s habit, or a cockpit.

And the hanging baskets hang like angels,
decrepit in the Winter Solstice; resting there
for a moment, on the patio, like a blanket,
dieing beautifully, to the tune of the sunflowers

as advised by the reviewer
from The Guardian Weekend.

Chiminea now you see her,
totem in the undergrowth.

Chiminea, now the year’s up,
to go beautifully is an art.

Because it is good to move fast.

Because what’s past is past.

Because a little rain never hurt anyone.

Because I have the trainers.

Because I used to do it.

Because it is good for the cardiovascular system.

Because I have eaten an energy bar in anticipation.

Because I couldn’t run a bath.

Because my personal best for the 100 meters is 25.
Meters

Because the first part of action is introspection.

Because I will listen to music more often.

Because I will eat more vegetables.

Because I will cut down on smoking.

Because it is highly recommended by celebrities in rehab.

Because it is similar to flying.

Because it is free.

Because I can.

Because I refuse to be intimidated by reported rise in rape and violent crime.

Because I will feel younger and invincible.

Because I will feel bullet proof and remarkable.

Because one day it might save my life.

Because I’d like to run a marathon, before I die,

or think I could, if I wanted to.