September is a Sometimes Season

I am fortunate in being able to make my own schedule most days. But sometimes those maintenance tasks that my friend Pen calls ‘life laundry’ cannot be parcelled out to one’s own bidding. That is when keeping up a writing practice becomes a time management challenge. Back in the last century, when still living in England, it often happened during lunch break while eating a sandwich on a park bench, or at my work station tapping out a draft when colleagues were out. You learn to use deal with time sandwich style.

So it is today, sandwiching poetry practice in between life laundry tasks and culinary activity.

September is a Sometimes Season

When sun peals like wedding church bells
and clouds are scarce,
a young man speeds along the highway
with a pretty girl by his side.
The soft top is down.
The wind teases her tendrils from her topknot.
They flail wildly
bedhead passion fashion.

The sky winks and a grey cloud lumbers along,
all middle-aged, a wrinkle and a frown, pre-occupied about
what to do to use up all those bruised apples.
By turns the weather is warm and sultry, then
the wind shivers your sweat.
In the evening you debate if it is worth switching the heating on,
just for an hour or so,
or maybe just to turn the electric blanket on low.

September is a sometimes season.

Copyright 2018 Bee Smith