Minutes in a Life

cream-coloured walls close in on sterile emptiness

a stainless-steel-sink and wool, forgotten.

the dishwasher’s mouth yawns open

wordlessness reaches out,

out to a watery sound and swirling.

the stepladder cries in the rain, forgotten.

trees, leaves, shed, stand naked  

acceptance of winter's burden

while the ceiling fan rotates,

rotates above the scallop-boats in Mornington.

silently the picture speaks 

crystal glasses wait for the sweet taste

of medium-dry sherry 

the decanter sits quiet, aloof, above it all.          

it is unavoidable that they are drawn together   

all that’s required is acceptance

tick-tock, tick-tock, the mantle clock 

minutes in a life.

I grumble in the driving wet,

as I do my chores, put dishes away.

while inside, the armchair awaits my comfort,

the taste of medium-dry

inevitably, the armchair sighs in comfort.

© Copyright, David Barnes.
All Rights Reserved.