Suffused with bathing light from dawning sun
I write, and drink warm tea.
I empty my mind of the dishwasher clattering cups,
load a white batch into the washing machine,
as I microwave porridge for Grace.
I also load the percolator with ground beans
from Cork Coffee Roasters.
I bring the smell to bed,
and shock the wife with such activity.
It’s an age since she saw creativity.
