Displacement

 

The cupboards need cleaning, I’ll turn them all out,

 I can check all the contents and move stuff about.

I’ll rotate the cans of the sweetcorn and beans

And won’t have to think what a eulogy means.

 

This floor is disgusting, I’ll get it scrubbed clean.

I can move out the chairs and sweep in between.

I can polish the legs of the table and sink.

I can scour and rinse and I won’t have to think.

 

The table needs moving, it’s in the wrong place

And tablecloth’s edged with the wrong kind of lace.

It all needs renewing or at least turning out,

Which means no time to think what tomorrow’s about.

 

I’ve dusted the top of the doorway and door,

I’ve counted the candles and twice mopped the floor,

Tomorrow’s the funeral, but I’ve no time to think,

As it’s far too important to scour out the sink.

Originally posted September 5th 2015

Frost on the Moon

There’s a frost on the Moon

The cold, shivery light is tumbling down and the frost comes with it

It gleams as it slides over the twiggy trees

There’s a frost on the Moon

I rest my hot, hot face against the cold, cold bedroom window glass

The heat of the argument ebbs out into the cool, clear night

There’s a frost on the Moon

The street is silent and pools left from this morning’s rain

Reflect back at the empty sky and the falling frost edges them

There’s a frost on the Moon

The silence is scattered by a strolling cat

As the knocked can rattles into the empty street

There’s a frost on the Moon

The frost is falling and slipping down the street

My hot heart’s pain fades and drains as I watch

There’s a frost on the Moon

Originally published July 1st 2015