into paperback fiction, bled 
into bundles of black ink sheets
each smudged moment
mutely becoming my shamed history.

I might have wished
to re-read the book in reverse;
to sweep today's waste  
into my hands, re-absorb 
those hours and minutes:
recycle them to better use. Once 
I would have felt remorse 
but today I shrug, 
say I enjoyed the read 
and brew a cup 
of Earl Grey. 

Such improvidence on my part:
in prime my feet 
paced trusty ground.
Now I stand small at the base 
of a vast hourglass whose sand sifts 
over my face
                            to smother my  sagging flesh.

©Jane Paterson Basil


5 thoughts on “Improvidence

    1. Thank you Judy. My life was in turmoil when I began blogging, and I guess the poetry was an outlet for my angst. And the blogging community offered the kind of friendship which helped restore me to a recognisable kind of sanity. But it’s hard to write when I’m balanced. Occasionally I feel inspired – or I fall off my log – and that’s fine, because then, I write. But I never intended to lose touch with you all.,


      1. You are younger and have a busy life, I’m sure. The thing that has kept me writing is the prompt words which mean I don’t have to think about what subject to write on! It’s just fun to puzzle them together. How is your son?


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