Flip flops and jam, the rural idyll

(Nearly 6 am on Miracle hunt day. I have been wearing flip flops since I could walk and can run backwards in them.)

231

Inspiration is a secondary

Response. Stripped down this

Experience centres on the

Simplicity of appreciation

232

Before I think to tidy up I take

A survey of the house-mess

An appraisal of status, if

Not in flux, it fails

233

I point out the dog paw shapes

On the oven door; dogs observe

Emotion, not language, or old evidence

Dog is happy, I am not cross

234

A motto on my cheap flip-flops reads

You Can Never Have Too Many Shoe

It’s not logical but the fun makes it beautiful

A stamp of flippant glamour on rubber

235

The indoor woodlice hurry

Gather under the bath

Slug, on tiles above, wanders

Alone, equally sure of purpose

236

From the cooking to the brewing

Kitchen, coffee odour lingers

Mingles into damp cottage, savoury

Sour wet dog, onion, earth and spice

237

The stuck clock hand repeats

One tick, in the quiet house

At this undiscovered hour

Airlocks blup, snores oscillate

238

Cow herders finish first milking

The machines rest, the cattle are

Gated back in the field, chewing

Grass, with comfortable udders

239

Pie-packing does not stop

The factory is always midshift

Pastry rolling, cut, pressed

Filled, boxed, transported

240

Bread pushes down into toaster

By means of a lever, electric heat

Crisps each slice. Butter waits

The fridge is packed with jam

Comments

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