A Life More Than Ordinary

Sheets flap on the line
like no-hope angels
restless to take flight;
old photos...postcards,

menus from all those
restaurants we’d go to –
curled at the edges....
pinned to a board, by
black-leaded stove.

A chipped,
and stitched pitcher
filled with purple vetch
picked – fresh today
from the meadow
down the lane.

Bread, baking
in the oven; you
in your kimono –
hair cascading, like
a waterfall over
your shoulders...
the colour of smoke –

sitting cross-legged
on the floor,
tongue teasing,
your lip – painting
your toes.

Outside the window –
muntjacs pause
on new-mown grass;
the sound of a plane
bound for Luton
echoes the daily humdrum

and on the terrace, tangled
with our grape-vine
paper-wasps whine
in high soprano...
a mundane kind of life
but I like it that way.