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July 10th

I’ve put the dust

on notice

the dishes

and the crust

that’s building

round the trivets

I’ve put the garden beds

and compost bins

on hold

(the worms will be okay)

likewise some mould

the pot-plants

throw me

hard, dry, mournful

dirty looks

and that painting

of a vase and kettle

I began in June

will have to bide

its un-pinked time

and maybe blue

until the day

the night

the hour

the opening of this play

there is no room

inside my mind

behind my eyes

within my ears

beneath my feet

for any more

than those learned 42

by rote

the where to walk

to stand

to sit

to hit the light

to say it right

in order

every night

my sweet folly

this little piece

of pure indulgence

this last gasp


as one hand claps

the emptied house

finds soft return

to housework

fond rhythm

of domestic task

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