Prose is architecture, not interior decoration.
Isn't it Gas
DescriptionNot even sure if this is a poem but ..... in the not so distant past, you could just reach under the door mat, pick up the key and let yourself in .... maybe even make some tea
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She left a glass on the kitchen table, not
full but not empty either, nearly there
The transistor radio was tuned in to Radio 4
A better class of listener dwelt in this abode
Envelopes with offers of excitement and reward
Had fallen one on top of the other, inside the door
The cat was glad to see me, or maybe just anyone
Turned round my leg and out the door, gone
Looking out the back window, the grass
Was enjoying the spring rain, needs cutting maybe
Bins need leaving out, so I did, then made me some tea
She’ll be home soon, shuffling with her bags, no doubt
Raising her voice to explain her aches and remedies
Giving her love to all and sundry, and meaning it.
Electric kettles don’t run on gas, but dinners do
So I checked the back kitchen, that’s where she was
Kinda half in, half out, checking, but no food to be
Found, in the oven, just a puzzled head, now dead
More by this User
- Poetry Entries | Isn't it Gas
- Poetry Entries | People and Bees
- Poetry Entries | All Gathered in the Kitchen
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Amy Barry
Tuesday, 21st February 2012 | 01:10 pm
Member | Points: 1350