20 February 2016

Meandering



One third of a slice of hot-buttered rye, sour cherry 
& walnut bread ‘n you’re ready for anything - tho’ a 
more rational assertion might be the two thirds that 
remain - measured in bite-sized pieces, if y’ please, 
and a coffee on the side but we’ll happily negotiate; 
it is a magnificent way to begin the first ‘official’ day 
of our newly occasioned retirement; she’s watching 
TV, Bonanza I guess, while I’m abed writing a quiet 

Contemplative poem linking the bits and pieces into 
a mosaic of musings; we had seen it coming I think 
an earlier confusion of sleeplessness suggested it - 
rousing at 3am isn’t natural as taking a midday nap, 
or is that juxtaposition missing an apposite; to wake 
early you’d need sleep naturally a bit in-between 

But its harder to stay alert and awake at work when 
juggling the gravity of being seen nodding off; its an 
affect like yawning when the boss is into boring you 
with motivational synergy; needless to say it’s not a 
recommended ploy - unless you’re on the threshold 
of the pensionable age of universal retirement 

And that’s precisely where we’re at … 
© 5 November 2015, I. D. Carswell