Friday Night
Heavy eyed, work done.
Pages of the novel stack up. The washing up, ignored. Gold plates cake crumbed.
Coffee cups everywhere. Clothes are washed, their colours part of the changing
design scape we have here. Darkish colours today. A rack of socks in variant
textures. The fireplace houses burnt out tea lights. One day we'll take out the
pillow that blocks the chimney draft. Toast marshmallows on modest flames.
We'll use the barbeque forks or improvise with twigs. Listen to vinyl, to old
record hiss. Admire the shadows of the avocado leaves, the poke of ginger
shoot, the spiking aloe, the umbrella geranium. We're not sure if the pineapple
will survive, but it's always worth a try. Arms on the wooden artist's model
are open wide, embracing. It has a shadow that does the same.
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