Thursday Morning

BLOSSOM THROSTLE

 

Every morning, I say:

“Do you want some coffee

Blossom Throstle?”

 

And you say:

“That would be great”

Or, “Maybe”

Or, “I have to have a shower

Because I need to do my hair”

Or, “I‘ll just do my make-up”.

 

You like it strong with a dash of milk

I like buckets of Trim

But we both abjure sugar

As it is a modern-day excess.

 

After my heart has stopped

Palpitating, I settle

In my favourite green chair

And meditate.

 

I always look at the bank

Under the mustard-coloured house

And try to see how far

My planting is coming along.

On Thursdays, we take out the rubbish

In our green wheelie bins

Because the trucks might

Damage the road.

 

This morning, Joanne scurried out

Through the morning rain

With her bin and sprinted back -

More of a wet chook than a thrush.


And you are taking the boys

Early for road patrol

And then on to sort the clothes

With Justine for the School Fair.

Now the rain has died down

The birds are singing again.