Saturday, 19 March 2016

If I wasn’t awake I’d miss…..

Pencils scratching paper
ruffles of armed sleeves
softy shuffling sighs
Aires of composed concentration
broken by unseen beads of sweat dripping
as tense foreheads line up
Coffees interrupt.

Fumbling fingers
play with uncooperative pens
find mouths and jersey necks to suckle absentmindedly
hands supporting heads dropping
forearms guarding pages
onto which ink floods
in a blue black alphabet soup
jumbled like the fridge door magnets
slowly shaping into stanzas.

© Sheila Ash 19th March 2016

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