Vol-Au-Vents

In the morning he finds half-finished vol-au-vents
Red wine fingerprints on the light switches
Red wine fingerprints on the door of the fridge
Red wine fingerprints on the bannister

Red wine fingerprints on the plug sockets
Red wine fingerprints on the front door
Red wine fingerprints on the letterbox
He sits down amongst the half-finished vol-au-vents

Half finished by people now asleep
Their chitter-chatter settling into the carpet
The sound of their music soaked into the walls
Asleep and full of red wine and half vol-au-vents

Red wine fingerprints on the wallpaper
Red wine fingerprints on the carpet
Red wine fingerprints on the airtex ceiling
He thinks up recipes for half-finished vol-au-vents

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What I Think About When I Think About What I’m Thinking About

A black cat in the shadows
Or a pile of unworn workshoes.

Exhausted, sad and pyjama’d.
By sail or steam you clamber
Out, and into your dayclothes
Covered in eyelashes.

Around you the house is –
Bricks creaking, moss weeping.

Big black charcoal circles.
You hum loud as you can –
Candlestick music –
Not afraid of everything.

Slowly fit-fit-fitting.
All movements are structures.

All moments are glass
All places are rubble
Close your eyes and you
Are out of time and space.