14/12/2010
My toes – fat little chipolatas
at the end of my tired feet -
stare up at me, questioning ...
They’ve heard the rumbling from above
and they know:
we’re gonna be on the loo
for a while tonight!
I’ve no idea, I say, no idea at all:
something we ate, no doubt.
The chicken perhaps, or the spiced pineapple.
Seven seasons of Smallville
in just as many weeks
and all I can think about is this:
how can they be allowed to cast so many
magnificent creatures
in one show?
No, I’m not breaking any moral rules.
It’s not like that at all.
I can appreciate their beauty,
as I’d enjoy a Renoir artfully framed
in a sunlit hall.
So late -
I’m half-asleep...
Only the recurrent chills
keep waking me.
Pillow’s making little loving noises,
calling me.
I wish I could, my darling!
Husband? Any second now
he’ll begin to purr.
I once recorded an eight-minute sonata
as he lay blissfully unaware of his
own music.
You know, I’ve never met a Tom
I didn’t like J
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