I’m sitting right now, on my porch
and I can see my breath, a freezing cloud, washing over the keys.
I’m wishing I’d made that frivolous purchase, back in June
but I was being far too sensible and gloves were a lifetime away.
Cars pass by sporadically, their lights cascade
dancing shadows through the privet hedge.
I wonder where they’re going
in the black of night? Or why I am not
sat in front of the blazing flames that
warm the sitting room.
And the elderly man that has a dog that I’ve named
Ernie, and a flat cap and a bag of… something?
Let’s make it his life’s savings.
Well, the banks aren’t worth the money they
What does he see as I watch him look
at me, through a fading peripheral vision?
Maybe he thinks I’m surfing the net,
watching porn on my doorstep.
Or maybe I’m penning my greatest hit.
I doubt he cares so much as he walks by
like the rest of them,
Not noticing much more than what is two feet ahead.
I’m noticing that I have a ladder in my tights and that
there’re no stars, at least for tonight. Just a depressing
glow of street lamps and my artificial light that I write by, right now.
I’m starting to shiver but it doesn’t matter because
a cup of tea fixes everything, or so I’ve heard it said.
And what of it? Who am I to judge the medicinal powers
of PG Tips? If they can make a monkey talk…
Maybe I’m taking things too literally.
It really is cold, tonight.
Time for bed.