Sunday, February 17, 2008
A house I pass every morning No. 6
It was a small house surrounded by fields.
I'd pretend to eat sausages, drink imaginary tea.
One time a girl called Sophie came calling
and I practiced touching her knee.
I drove my tractor until all hours,
even ironed my own shirts.
Nothing seemed to come of it
though heaven knows I worked...
Bad days, I just sat indoors,
rain beating on the plastic roof above,
unhinged, aware of little more
than the need inside to be loved.