The pressure gauge

Someone painted the sky
a delicious shade of blue,
I wonder who.

Sunday,
perhaps the bells will ring
the angels might sing
but the postman won’t bring me
a letter from you, because the mail
doesn’t come on the day of our Lord,
I wonder why.

second cuppa coming up
the kettle is boiling
the tea’s in the cup
which is a lie,
I’m having coffee,
are you awake, woke
ready to break or already broke?

we’re all in the same boat
some are chained to the oars
and row
some are the captains telling us
where to go,
but we all know
it’s a crock

© 2020, John Smallshaw.