A #poem Called Outside My Window The Perfects fill their car again. Rucksacks and walking boots, pocket maps and waterproofs. Photos Facebooked like safari trophies. After a Sunday abseiling down The Matterhorn they return to rustle up a Mongolian banquet or two. "It's easy if you've got the right ingredients." Stories quell the quins like our publisher said they would. Then it's Ambassador's drinks, forty winks, a run, a shower then work. I lie unwashed like laundry cluttering. Light fights dust and curtains to glint off foil take away cartons and lighten the overdue bills. Time, like leftovers, should not be wasted, but days slip by like oiled ghosts away before I can grab them and ask what they should be.
React
Comment
Share
