Postscript
There’s a smudge on the
wall under the window sill,
right below where a spider
web is gathering dust.
Outside the peach tree
has blossomed, people
are walking in the park
in short sleeves and
dogs are chasing frisbees
in the Domain.
But here grease is collecting
behind the stove-top and
mould is growing in the
vegetable bin.
I’m lying in bed
watching the spider web
blowing in a draught
coming through a gap
in the window frame.
Over and over
I’m thinking of
dirt and disorder and
I’m thinking of
you.
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