Languid limb listless across lists of to do's and have not done's,
diligent delegation like a Radio Times schedule.
We're chewing pen lids instead of strawberry laces
and getting ink all over our hands.
Wrist width wrinkle of blue skyed sunlight between blinds
lends to internal laments
that it's been long since we lost a day riverside
with a shopping trolley for our transport,
80p of pocket money and a flask of strong ribena rucksacked.
Two finger salute to the flock flying south;
we'll pass a fallen sparrow for Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday
and flip it with a stick before the weekend.
(If Sunday night's dinner is spaghetti, you'll pale. )
I didn't listen to a word you just said
but I'm nodding.
Let's put away your breasts,
there's too much trying wedged into that cleft.
Let our desks dust
and we'll ride our bikes til our bodies brown.