Too Right
June crawls out of bed into being
and washing up on
broken glass and sinew
Contemplates a cup of tea
whilst weighing up
the perils that haunt kettles.
Underfoot crumbs thrive
& polka. Must we
now wince at the crawling stumble
of decay, or faceup to
someones fact you’ve had
your day in the sun
Very like a Mayfly did?
Grimbeau 