Domestic Poem (Day 2 Prompt 2)

by | Oct 18, 2020 | Dean Cleaning Two

Because we can’t know what comes next, I say,

the dandelions multiplied overnight,

but you mowed the lawn just yesterday,

or was it last Thursday?

The days are melting into one another.

I thought today was Friday but it’s Sunday.

I know because you cooked sausages for breakfast.

Today on our walk you say, what a lovely afternoon. 

It’s only 11:30 in the morning, I reply.

Surreptitiously, I lift my sleeve. 

My waterproof watch shows 2:30.


Because we can’t know what comes next, I say,

you were right and I was wrong. 

Something I never would admit before this virus.

It starts to rain so we turn around,

settle inside the kitchen. I stare at the dandelions.

You read the paper. Rain turns to mist turns to sunshine. 


Because we can’t know what comes next 

you plug in the lawnmower. 

Its bright orange cord cuts us in two,

me seated at the kitchen table,

you on our patch of green, headphones on

Palliser’s Can You Forgive Her.


Because you can’t know what comes next 

you leave The Times open to page 23.

I wait till the mower faces the shed,

turn the paper to page one.

If you ask me why I will say,

because I can’t know what comes next. 

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