we dust in England
now that winter’s here
with thoughts of Caribbean shore
where the water’s clear,
while fighting with the furniture
cleaning clogs her mind
with the sand of golden places
and how to make time rhyme.
The bang and clatter of the chairs
drums of the swinging dance,
of carnival, now greyed away
in spots of rain and mirror spray
the kaleidoscope and spectrum play
upon her greatest fear.
Only to clean once a week
and not find courage for release
from such slavery to visit
such a glorious beach!
dwk
......over the edge 