The days of…

wine and roses ?
No, far  behind
those plum pink days
when loves were blind.

The days of nappies
and pappies ?

Further on, still
[more towards lone cactus
on the kitchen windowsill]
the plot doesn’t thicken,
but the plots multiply
with all our parents
sunk in sod and gone – gone
to what we hoped against hope
was somehow a better place –
[a few days grace in lies
until the wreath wilts and dies.]

The days of what then..
now that I am here
to riddle out the rest on my own

Days of feeling somewhat foolish
going to the mailbox in my bathrobe
leaving intentionally hot tea on the counter
then biting into toast leaning over the sink,
yes that might define these days I think.

 

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