25 January 2016

Bombay Bliss


It’d be easy enough to term this an exhausting 
day - wasn’t as if there were a million things to 
do, finding anything genuinely needing a span
of attention A.D.D. would distort into an epoch 
that ended before it began was the beginning - 
so we watched RWC Semi-Final #2 at double 
speed twice, it allowed us escape a one-eyed
commentary Foxtel’s Rugby crew feel obliged 

to arbitrate, and it makes the constant replays 
almost bearable - then there was the creative 
session where ideas flo’ into poetry almost as 
routinely as Poppy-napping, & safer if you are 
actually on your bed or chair before removing 
reading glasses to invite falling asleep - 

for a moment there’s peace and contentment, 
waking is light relief as bewilderment few can 
accommodate lurks where eyes fail to sight a 
pair of glasses you’d swear were at hand; oh, 
never mind, the backups are always there on 
that bedside dresser table you proclaim 

and then there’s a fellow-retiree to pay a mind 
to; sure, he’s a Jack Russell Terrier but needs 
to be chaperoned on a walk daily, else he will 
paw your arm to demented pieces - probably 
reminding of more dire things than the simple 
events slipping off-schedule already 

finally its midday; now the mail box trip rears 
into saturnine prominence - more often than 
occasionally there’s nothing as The Postie’s 
been thru but you ain’t got any, or she’s late, 
or worse they’re not your’s, and they’ll need 
to be readdressed n’ sent on anyway - but 

making it halfway means the rest’s a breeze - 
all downhill and easy as pie - & maybe that’s 
what’ll be tea unless whiteboard suggestion’s 
checked express a Bombay Bliss plan; ideas 
that eventuate in a curry take-away are great 
and no Alzheimer debate’s necessitated 
© 26 October 2015, I. D. Carswell