as if. . .

Posted: September 16, 2013 in Neighbours, People, Poems
Tags: , , ,

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


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