they
clamour by
– hours, days, weeks –
with no reason I can see, and
the merest modicum of free rhyme
even the slim routine hiccups, leaps; spilling
like last month’s grime from an overstuffed hoover bag
across my living room, to be unwittingly inhaled into my mind
life is measured more by cardboard tubes from used-up toilet rolls
unlikely tales, renewing old disappointments
unexpected entrances and exits
unwanted requests
than by real
time
©Jane Paterson Basil