Blue smudges wipe across even sky
On precipice of night 
Day revolts and turns tide
Retreat to corners of mind

Juxtaposed by blare of radio
Flashes of childhood images 
Stare, faintly clothed in gingham.
Raise a glass to the next one

Rarely raise an eye -
Why so glum?
Another born, another gone.
That is the way of feathers

Light, alight, flight, arise on the morn.
Heavy feather plume for some by dawn
How terribly lucky to sit and play cards
Flamboyant merry men waiting in bars

Making the most of hand dealt
Sweet mothers at home scolded
No time to buy Bond Street or go to jail
Fantastical games and their winnings

Fists on the table should the master 
Receive bad hand - tables fail to turn
The power of which we reminisce 
Head to happy place now, do not pass go

The fact, debt collector comes knocking
For dignity paid monthly in dozens
For every ovary that must be several hundred
Opportunities to populate

Is that all we are? – she wonders…

Midnight, Pilates on the living room rug
Biding time until sleep snuffs eyes shut

Sharp clear colour pictures of lazing on patios
Bottles of champagne at breakfast
Laughing, heads thrown in a fit backwards
Crawling cars, snaking their way, beneath them

Ivory carved bust of humility – ego or I go
I do not.

Well, I be mocked.
Game straight-faced hilarity goes to waste
The word is muck but none other works
Love, won, lost, come undone.
Words be gone.