The cobwebs

Those cobwebs on the window need sweeping

There upon the wall some dust does gather

For time my beard has not felt the cool blade,

The wet soap brush lather.

Coffee cup stains on my desk multiply

And there my half finished coffee sits cold

While all the while the day just whiles away

Nothing is bought or sold.

Though we sit upon it still, there it stands,

There the sofa, it’s fake leather peeling

I, like the sofa, it’s faded leather

Quietly lost feeling.

Like unfolded laundry on the table

Which there lays in wait for its own sorting

Those cobwebs on the window need sweeping

I for life go courting.

 

Copyright © 2017 Grant Fenton – All Rights Reserved

 

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