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Wasting Words Before I Go To Sleep
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Published Works
Even though it is early in the morning
and I
want to punch holes in the walls
still,
the cat wants letting out
and the milk
has gone bad.
It's odour a refreshing change
from the stale
pretence of the
name-dropping relatives
who insist on
sharing the same blood.
I've sat up most of the night
with a man
I have idolized since
I was a boy.
His cancer has won
and the family
takes turns watching
him die.
We talk when we are
required to communicate.
Sometimes I wonder
how well we really
know the inside of
anybody else.
The cat meows at the door.
Now it wants letting in,
rubbing its fur against
my leg
as I stick two eggs
to boil on the stove.
Pouring coffee, I sit at
my desk and read
the letters that arrived
while I slept.
It's going to be another
winning day.
Who
knows how many words
will be wasted from now
until I go to sleep again?
