THE ACTUAL DOING OF IT

 up & slow & late & hungover
    & we cook sausages
on the old split level oven
 calling out as we turned them

 show us your little pink arses

 & we eat them with eggs
  & toast & coffee & cigarettes
   & he gets his stuff together
 for going back to town
      & i boot my laptop
  & get my stuff together -
 rolling a row of cigarettes
   & placing them with a plastic lighter
    next to my tin russian ashtray

 in the spaces on the spare room desk
          & he says

 you really are a writer

   with respect & maybe awe 

    in his voice & pause
 & i cherish that moment  
     for the acknowledgement of

 The Actual Doing Of It

  over & above any results 

 or deals or hysterical lauding