01 February 2011

Shipping Forecast

there is no connection,
no threading tissue,
between one and another,
no bother, as the dinner
gets done, chop-a-block,
in staccato steps, a
puzzle of paint-by-numbers,
ketchup-red, steak sauce-brown,
grainy-golden mustard, a dollop
of it on the spoon about to
be dashed into the sauce for the fish
with one fine wrist-movement (ah,
if all things could be so--
definite and sure)

saving her voice for after
dinner, when the clatter of
silverware straight into
the sink has faded, the
shipping forecast predicting
only minor squalls
and so
to bed

No comments: