Some storm-tossed days as winter’s weary wind
Now staggers to its final parting breath.
I watch the trees outside my window bend,
Their lively motion mocking rooftops’ death.
Beer bottles in the bin, their phantom froth
Bubbles of yesterday, pissed away, gone,
Along with last night’s smoky haze. They’re both
Killed off by Sunday scrubbing, door open,
A shower taken, shaved, the fun is done.
But wait! It’s Mother’s Day! To shops, to find
Flowers cut down at the peak of their growth,
Fleeting colours, bright beauty born of sun.
Will I have time to learn my lines, my mind
Distracted? But tonight’s gig comes by stealth.
Sun 2 Mar 2008
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