I wheel in sandwiches and biscuits

the tea is brewed            old wooden trolley
You are blank, wall-staring
brown photographs drop to floor
I know if the right fingers snapped you'd jump to life

I take it all            it's what I like about me
even if the blunders cut deep
keep me down
pressed between rocks
– I think I can pass through them

don't play in caves
don't climb loose shale slopes
don't fly
don't believe this is real
don't stay

They all left before sunup
half-known figures, demons, angels
– you don't get to practice, or reflect

You eat a little, drink some tea
I take the trolley away

~ ~ ~

Half-Hour Chunks

She told me
she divides her day
into half-hour chunks
At the end of each
she has a treat –
a piece of chocolate
a cup of tea…

The difficulty, she said
is keeping your mind

~ ~ ~