I am just sitting here, enjoying
The fact that I am just sitting here.
There is dinner to make – spinach pie
With feta and fill – but not now.
Now there is only the sun setting gently,
An unidentifiable hum in the ether,
And the leftover taste of Chinese lunch.
There is a tired, wistfulness about the end
Of March, still biting chilly, for so long.
I reach into my pockets and find
A string of joy in reserve, in case April
Never gets here…and in another pocket,
A single chick pea gone bad (no idea
How it got there), while I go on
Just sitting here, sitting enjoying
the fact that I am enjoying
just sitting
© Judith McNally 2016
The fact that I am just sitting here.
There is dinner to make – spinach pie
With feta and fill – but not now.
Now there is only the sun setting gently,
An unidentifiable hum in the ether,
And the leftover taste of Chinese lunch.
There is a tired, wistfulness about the end
Of March, still biting chilly, for so long.
I reach into my pockets and find
A string of joy in reserve, in case April
Never gets here…and in another pocket,
A single chick pea gone bad (no idea
How it got there), while I go on
Just sitting here, sitting enjoying
the fact that I am enjoying
just sitting
© Judith McNally 2016