A WORKMAN MORNING

the moment

i spend 

with 

the
four
mismatched
mugs

on a patterned plastic tray

for the early bird workmen

who park up their machines
& laugh at the heaving clouds

is some kind of something

is a place of grace & space

& the winter mild 

coming in 

the open kitchen door

is

like

a

lullaby

for a cartoon bear

& the only darkness

is the december sky

& no ones fault 

no ones fault at all