Tip Toe

“Good Evening”

burst into the empty room and sinks

into  wood-chipped walls.

I am thrilled

There isn’t a cushion of place,

Or a dirty plate,

or a  dish cloth dotted with swollen toast crumbs, no.

There is just me, alone in clean silence.

I tiptoe on my tea stained carpet and hold my breath

in case the robin in the back garden stops singing.

Or the train on the railway track 400 yards away slows.

In my little cupboard sized kitchen

the kettle rocks  on its silver disc,

and the fridge performs its hourly shudder.

And the walls sweat.

I put last nights dinner in the ding – chicken supreme and second day roast potatoes,

better reheated, yes, better.

I scroll through Facebook,

watch people talking to one another

without opening their mouths.

I turn off my phone – to feel.

I feel everything.

Maybe I should do something?

Maybe I should clean my plate,

eat a jammy Wagon Wheel just because –

Maybe feel a little guilty so practice Yoga on the Wii?

Maybe just sit and watch the robin in the tree.

©Eilidh G Clark