In the cold light, a hot soup is most welcome.

February fell in again and so
I begin again, but
it’s always yesterday someday.

Yesterday where I burn and today
they say I will learn,
perversely
yesterday’s where I turn to for
some heat
and February beats me again.

I lose it somewhere along each line and
some time sometimes loses me
age has no friends.

See,
I like the feel of good jazz on my skin where
the trumpet blows in
and a good mood can begin, but
yesterday follows,
like a hollow faced stalker and
some time when February comes calling
it seems like it hits me and I’m
always falling.

The way that thing are
I won’t fall very far
bent as I am
by the years.

I should be up there reaching for the sky
Douglas Bader knows why
instead, I’m kneeling feeling foolish
praying,
saying things like
forgive me.

God give me strength and at length
I think somebody does.

© 2016, John Smallshaw.