The kitchen’s broken —
We’re splashing around in six inches of water
But we’re happy, ain’t we?

Your face says it all
And your dismay is infectious because
They belong to you and your emotions matter to me

Rhubarb crumble with ice cream or custard
Is on the menu today
But there are no servings after one thirty

Days it may be impossible to read anything
But one notes how the bugs buzz around the window
And the cat has a lot to say for herself

One moment I was having a heart by-pass
Then we were dining what felt like reasonably finely
But I may have imagined one of those

Go out and come back home with very little money
It’s possible to lay out in the snow too long
The end is to all intents and purposes a coma

What is home anyway?
A picture of a fireplace and children roasting
The Magician appears but we tell him to get lost

Out there is Nature and its tapestries
So up we go into the air and clouds
The gulls and kites and dust motes for company


© Martin Stannard, 2019
Painting: Marc Chagall

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    1. that’s what
      I call a good poem
      plain words
      plainly spoken
      no fight to find meaning
      no heart broken

      Comment by jeff cloves on 4 December, 2019 at 12:16 am

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