LAST TEABAG BEFORE THE SUN:
Essex rubs it’s eye’s, dazed beneath a sky of grey milk.
The dirt looks great, ploughed, raked & groomed to perfection.
Hedgerows hold their ground, but leaves are on the turn & falling.
The Walnut tree is still shedding nuts long after I saw none left
& the big apple tree clings to more than half it’s crop.
I’m back at the coalface, tapping on these keys. Trying to finish
a book before the end of October. November is an unknown, though
already it’s got plans & this surreal film my family is living
in continues to roll. It’s like a motorcycle engine that was
running rough, now it’s in pieces on the kitchen table being
cleaned before re-assembling. It’s scattered around the kitchen
getting care & close attention, ready to put together as something
better than the thing it was.