In the last 10 minutes I am warm.
Every part warm, and this won't happen again today.
Only my nose pokes out of the covers, testing the cold of the bedroom air.
The last 10 minutes are the precious ones
Ahead is hot PG Tips with a dash of white
a cherry red sunrise, and mint green hills like frosted gumdrops
thick plumes of horse breath and the radio relay of gravely Netanyahu
the sentence dips of President Obama; Iran, Syria, Afghanistan.
In the last 10 minutes I wonder if I will fix or replace the dishwasher
And decide to drive the truck because scraping the minivan will take forever.
In the last 10 minutes I listen.
And they are gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment