Cold Camden Town,
basement kitchen.
Breath freezing.
Steam rising,
from a coffee cup.
I climb the stairs
of my broken-down house.
Hair disheveled.
Face unshaven.
Legs stiff and unyielding.
The heater has taken
that chill from my room.
Plastic window covering,
crinkles.
Cars move outside.
I place a twelve inch
on the turntable.
Forget Me Nots,
by Patrice Rushen.
It’s for you.
Till I come tomorrow
will you forgive,
absolve and pardon
my indirection.
My feet of clay,
a blundering about
and ruining most
of yesterday.
What poor timing
on the eve, of
St Valentine’s day.
Not quite a massacre,
more the bumbling
of an ineffective fool.
Cold Camden Town,
basement kitchen.
Breath freezing.
Steam rising,
from a coffee cup.
I climb the stairs
of my broken-down house.
Hair disheveled.
Face unshaven.
Legs stiff and unyielding.
The heater has taken
that chill from my room.
Plastic window covering,
crinkles.
Cars move outside.
I place a twelve inch
on the turntable.
Forget Me Nots,
by Patrice Rushen.
It’s for you.
A blast from the past !
Cold Camden Town,
Basement kitchen.
Breath freezing.
Steam rising,
From a coffee cup.
I climb the stairs
Of my broken-down house.
Hair dishevelled.
Face unshaven.
Legs stiff and unyielding.
The heater has taken
That chill from my room.
Plastic window covering,
Crinkles.
Cars move outside.
I place a twelve inch
On the turntable.
Forget Me Nots,
By Patrice Rushen.
It’s for you.
