It is time for another launderette poem By another espresso macchiato It is time for another good poem It is time for another shitty poem Of dirty laundry of dirty love Of frothy coffee of blood-stained sheets Single ladies immerse themselves In the lifestyle pages of Saturday newspapers Single bold men immerse themselves In the motoring pages of Saturday newspapers Boredom. I’m waiting for my laundry to dry Kids around even more bored than their parents Of themselves Some pseudo-intellectual jazz in the background Oozes even more boredom flowing heavily like ice-cream From an ice-cream machine the day is kind of cold and kind of dark But not quite I hate incompleteness. I want fullness. The deepest darkest gloom.The sweetest joy. But I find myself over and over again At the table with a morning newspaper Cup of coffee, slice of toast; Bland everydayness over and over again Damn you England and your lack of seasons! Yet , I cannot live anywhere else – The Continent smells of Death and Resurrection. Everydayness it is then, Amen.
Writing from the well 