Days hang together
pegged on the line.
Lollipop pink t-shirt days
and grey nappy days.
Mondays dawn cold and humourless,
packed lunches and percolated coffee,
routine barks orders
and the cat refuses to go out
till the cream has soured.
Tuesday motors its way along the week.
Soccer training melds into
a night meeting, followed by
meat and three veg thrown onto the table
as a hasty wholesome meal.
Wednesday sighs in its pause for breath.
Clean socks and undies are running low
Order unravels as the week gathers speed.
Thursday is borne, merely tolerated.
Time pulls on its coat tails.
The fridge is bare and enthusiasm is low.
The dilemma of tea can easily overwhelm
Friday nights sag into the settee,
takeaways grow cold on the coffee table.
The debris of the week
lies in the clothes hamper.
Frenetic Saturday mornings
pulled taut between
supermarket and dry cleaner.
Shopping trolleys breach road rules,
carrier bags bulge and purses flag.
like cushions strewn on the floor,
haphazard pockets of recluse.
Tobacco stained hardbacks
and Marx Brothers movies.