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.


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