Ironing Life

Stand on two legs

like a stork, a hunter;

spindly but stable

and ready to be stroked

with a buzz of electric heat.

Earth supports fire,

fire spurts steam and hot air

up until the time we are flat.

Breath

I took a breath one day, began

to breathe in 1953

(after the war and victory)

a little man

unable to see.

Since then I’ve breathed a lot,

managed to shout,

escaped my cot,

run about

and used my lungs in cold and hot.

My chest has risen, sunk.

I’ve walked and swum and loved and slept

and all the while I’ve kept

on breathing in and talking junk

- on my out-breath - words inept.

But now I’ve started to yawn

en route to 2033

worrying (only occasionally)

about just when a little man

will take a final in-breath-out. We’ll see.

White Lines

Keeping on side

is a good trick of memory

is an excellent habit.

A chap uncontained

by white lines while traveling

by now would be sleeping

so best stay on over

far away from your burial

for as long as is possible

but sometimes the devil

rants ‘what the hell matey!’

and I can be spotted

taking a corner

with wheels all a-straddle,

laughing and getting away.

Hey Front Door

can I ask a question?

It’s not a tough question

and, in the end, not really about you.

It’s more about me.

No need for anyone who’s ‘lost’ to knock or ring today

but can you help me notice please,

have I got a grip on everything?

You know! Like car keys,

trousers, glasses, diary

and how many times,

between now or then,

closed or open,

will I recite my tiny questions?