Coffee, my bituminous friend

This batch brings my 24 hour miracle hunt to nearly 6am. This is too early to actually do the washing up, but I do manage to blearily accept the significance of it. Coffee helps. 

While coffee brews in the jug, I will
Be organised, drag the washing from
The lovely machine that undertook
Hard work for me as I slept

A whirl of wet fabric in the basket
Waits for me to locate some boots
And a mug for the coffee, and wonder
If it’s too early to wake the dog

Dog thumps her tail in a slow beat
I turn off the lamp we forgot last night
And gather up the glasses and appraise
The unfinished list of things to do

The washing up is waiting, is one of
Those little repetitions that marks out
Your life, this history in coffee rings, in
The medium of smeared food stains

Two boots located, the washing is brought
To the line, another confirmation of our
Continuing adventures, pegged item by item
Optimistic plastic fastens the corners

Occupational debris stuffs up the shed
This morning the light strikes a low
Wall of old car batteries, behind me
My shadow slopes on an old door

Close my eyes to focus on
The fusion, the notes of coffee
Dark cocoa musk, the bituminous
Coal, tar, smoke, burnt sugar

Indecipherable words in the
Calligraphy of slugs and snails
Reflect neon hot colours of sky
Across the upturned ceramic sink
In the firepit seasoned twigs will
Be lit soon, to let the bonfire hiss
Call to the sun to not forget us
Through the winter tilt

And here I stand
In a panorama of clouds
Warming my hands on a mug
Watching the steam curl up


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