When you’re trying to write

light distracts me
the switch that the night brings
cajoles and attracts me,
she knows me too well.

My cell in hell will have pictures
of Bananarama on the walls
and
I’ll be climbing them,
(the walls, not Bananarama)

Ideas are like buses in that
you wait for one
and ten come along
at once,

but they’re in a muddle and
I struggle to find some design.

I shouldn’t ought to
but I thought you
might like a read
on a Saturday and
unlike ‘Zenda’
don’t need to spend a
life time hid
away.

And there it is in
black on white
trying to write
when the light
distracts me.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.