Some More Things You Do Not Know About Me
Today I stayed the day in my pink pyjamas. Night is now about to fall and catch me with them on.
I uttered not one word. I wrote a poem.
I brewed builders tea deconstructed a recipe spilled soup on the pilot light; did a basin of hand washing,
Yesterday I declined to return a smile from a socialite. I did not plastic-smile back nor swap dry biscuit remarks.
Did not kiss the air all furious.
One opportunity missed.
Nothing, alas, to be done about it.
I value my silent days. In the ground of my being I have raised a small one-room wattle and daub hermitage.
Here I am a solitary weeper till friend Father Louis comes. We choir he sings lead he was a cantor I cant.
He’d laugh at that, rolling guffaw of a holy fool laugh.
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