The irritable vole

I cut through the darkness with a hot butter knife ( don’t tell the wife ) and it lets a little light through
‘I may be some time’ someone said,
which must have been on a Monday when the fun was sucked out of the factory.

Lovey oh love, dear me God up above he don’t care and sent the Winter I swear upon oath to catch us both unaware.

but I am getting it together
in spite of or because of the weather
and soon
like the leaves turning brown on the trees
I will leave my abode
to fall (on my feet )
haphazardly on the road I must take

Monday is still a face ache of a day
the night drifts away
and it’s here.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.