Thursday 17 December 2009

Thursday

cemetery

It's still dark when I wake – the dog has such soft fur in the morning
but she wants her belly rubbed and I'm need to get dressed.
The bathroom's cold, the water scalding, the shower head too low
raise, rinse, repeat. Why does the alarm go off when I have wet hands?
Darkness. Feed the dog, the cat; reboot the computer that's stalled
during the night. Tea. Poetry. Wake the child.
Ten to nine. Write a flash. Flirting? Flirting equals murder in my book.
The sun's out. Walk the dogs. Beautiful sun in the cemetery.
Twitter a haiku. Red milk at the shop. I can see into the spare bedroom
from the next street down. Home. Into town with DK.
He says it feels like Christmas, walking arm in arm with me in the hail.
Bacon butty. The chap next to us asks if he butters the bread.
No, the cook says, lathering the bacon in oil. That'd be fattening.
Shopping. Art shop. What fabulous watercolour paper. Too pricey!
Home. Writing. Painting – I adore Prussian Blue. DK off to college.
Don't die in the snow. Lu cooks us some dinner. It's snowing hard now,
I hope it doesn't stick. I have to take the dog to the vet tomorrow.

6 comments:

aims said...

You made me think of my mother and grandmother for some reason. I have no idea why.

But I loved it.

Thank you.

Rachel Green said...

Thanks Aims.

They were good thoughts, I hope.

Unknown said...

big smiles...hope your holidays are filled with love...

Rachel Green said...

Thank you kindly.

Unknown said...

This really is a lovely poem, Rachel. I want so much to not envy your talent. :)

Rachel Green said...

Pah! You have plenty of your own, but thank you.