On Listening to 'The Lark Ascending'...
Tell myself it doesn’t matter
the house looks like a tip – that
my ashtray is full to overflowing...
that the cat needs its injections,
and de-worming – the kitchen
could do with a lick of paint – kid
myself it suits my Bohemian image,
if I’d time to be one, that is...
That we disagree on the meaning
of ‘tidy’. Dishes, left in the sink,
the lawn, crying out for a mow – no
clean shirts for you to wear – these
things get under your skin. The
‘I’ll do it tomorrow’ approach
doesn’t wash with you. And,
incidentally, your suit still needs
picking up from Sketchley’s.
Yet, sometimes, I get to wondering,
what is any of this compared to
love, or being at peace with the world
or hearing our daughter laugh
for the very first time? Or seeing
a Morning-Glory open its custard-
cupped mouth – pour Naples Yellow
over a deeper shade of By the Way
I’m Leaving You Suburban Grey.