Buds

I drink the cold water

I taste, then eat, the cold baked beans

I peel, then devour, the indistinct tangerine

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Interrogation

Why so expansive

Why so interested

What have I done

To deserve this

Yes it was a place

From my past

Central to the city

Where I might have found you

Yet without any love interest

Not anyone that I remember

Bur why would I

It was such a long time ago

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If in doubt

There in the gallery

Glass tables

Set out in rectangular patterns

Some had clay, some didn’t

There was clay

Which I worked

I was part of this

Upstairs

A huge piece of furniture

Which looked likely

To topple over

At any moment

I felt responsible

I was part of this

The main artist

Had been overwhelmed

He left

To go on a walk

His disciples worried for him

I got on with the job

I felt to belong

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Take on board

Today is the shortest day

So followers of the winter solstice inform me

You see I am not so well versed

With the factual facilities of life

So I get by, by believing in

What others care to bring

If it is the shortest

Might it not also qualify

As the brightest

Which a scientist may tell me

That the sun and moon and stars

Coincidentally deliver this to me

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Celebrate

In this body

The only one I have

There seems to be a need to say thank you

For a good nights sleep

Benjamin becoming Thomas

Behind the rotating foam drums

His father appears and suggests

That being Thomas isn’t such a great idea

Andrew arrives, full of cold

Shivering he puts the present

And card on the back seat

Then drives off back home

Such is the timing

On this last Saturday morning before Christmas

Emma, Tim, and the boys, flying at three

To ski on the French slopes

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