I get so
absorbed in poeming
(Ken Smeaton first
coined that word,
I think – though
it doesn’t matter:
we’ve all gladly
adopted it now)
I almost forget
to take medication,
get showered, even
finish my coffee!
(My first-thing-
in-the-morning,
‘hot as hell,
black as sin,
strong as death’
flask of coffee.)
Now comes thunder
in the midst of summer.
Out in the yard,
the leaves agitate.
The one bloom on the vine
trembles and dips.
This time it stays
a little distant. Last night
a deluge as the sky cracked,
warm and wild. Gazing
from shelter and an open door,
we breathed it in.
The year winds down,
at the same time hotting up –
metaphorically of course, as
you don’t need me to outline;
and literally too, down here
in the Southern Hemisphere.
Our phones issue warnings:
‘Extreme heat. Severe heat.
Stay in place.’ Interesting
to see what survives
in my untended garden.
It must look after itself now.
I’ve got enough to do,
looking after my cat and me.
