Outside my single-bed window
It’s a foggy winter morning in London
Is this the same town I went to bed in?
It was sunny yesterday, a T-shirt day;
Now I can barely see the Victorian terrace up the pathway
Grey hurt my eyes so I recoil
From the cold window pane
I think of layers to wear, cashmere
This is Sunday – this is so unfair!
Surely I’d be forgiven for not doing church in this weather …
Sharp smells from the Borough Market
Waft to recent memory
Sausages roasting, thick coffee brewing,
A vat of saffron paella smoking
Tourists gawking, tasting; everyone hawking
Bacon, eggs and a tin o’ beans
Frying up brings some warmth
if oily odour to a dense boudoir
I park in front of the telly: tea mug in hand, jammas smelly
Today the door bell won’t ring for sure.
© Millicent Danker
10 March 2013