Wednesday, 1 January 2014


On a nether morning between
Boxing Day and New Year’s Eve, when

rain and gales lambast the house
with expletives and the light dims

to pumice-grey (but you won’t switch
the lights on as that would be much

too much like giving in), the doors trill
in their frames, old sash windows roll

and jig, and you have to hunker down,
make soup, then love, all afternoon.

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