Empty cup sits on the SuperSer
that is gently hissing heat.
Right foot is cold,
resting on the arm of a sofa
sneakily swallowing books.
Left arm is hot.
In the kitchen the washing machine
hums and clinks, while out back,
washing snaps and tears at its pegs,
eager to be gone.
On the front window,
ragged daffs with yellow hats
wink and nod like navvies
at the pot of prettily waving tulips,
who are embarrassed by the attention.
I start to doze in the pale, diffuse light
while the cloud heralds of night
race east over the sea.