Epilogue – Layers of dust and spilled sugar

Early morning is bluish rather than abalone
and if you listen closely
can almost drink in the silence of city,
a comforting thought
until I recall layers of dust and spilled sugar
resting upon the chaotic brown tiled floor
in the front room,
other than glossy curls and red lipstick
she looks like fragmented bits of my worst nightmare
her claws
digging into the lush leather furniture,
‘Goodness gracious, woman! Ever heard of sweeping?’
I raised my eyebrows in disgust,
‘Not really, perhaps you can enlighten me,’
she flipped the channel until a soap opera came up,
the sky darkened
as tempers flared and turned a sinister shade
of charcoal grey,
I smiled as the doorbell rang,
‘Now that I think about it, it’s really not so bad,’
she froze in horror
as the delivery man arrived with our order,
roasted garlic rice and potato soup with crispy brussels,
the house was clean as a pin the next day.

 

Photo credits: Lasse Moller, Unsplash

Posted for Poems in April @ Real Toads