Full homes are messy places,
Licked spoons on starry kitchen altars
To the goddess you call Mother
When she pilfers heavens to fill
A hunger run on butterscotch days,
Occult coins spinning through the
Plastic-bag tumbleweeds blown
By fans that debate air into flowing
Across slant tiles' rearing humps,
Askew on edges which ants negotiate
With patience only summer-days give
Your untidy holiday scrawls across
Dappled living-room sofas and
Rubber buttons of fell controllers
When control was easy pushes
On little boxes for larger boxes,
When your whims were simpler,
Milk-chocolate notions:
Their sugar is far too sweet now.
No comments:
Post a Comment