You try to match your brain up with the things your eyes are seeing,
give a little scratch or two because being men we all do that.
then there’s the coffee to negotiate
the bedroom’s in an awful state
you can’t remember why
and an eye pokes out from underneath
the crumpled Egyptian cotton sheet
and another which makes two
and you wonder who
or maybe not
the coffee’s bubbling in the pot
such a lot you can’t recall,
memory’s not worth bugger all
when it doesn’t work.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.