WELL BEING

 

I’m at the breakfast, lunch dinner table

With the usual early morning stuff

Poetry scrambled egg toast and coffee.

The bench is bolted to the wall

For wheelchair access.

 

The trees outside are almost bare but

that’s enough of them, I must go inside

me to go out. The piles of books on my 

radiator add warmth, act as my comfort 

blanket, it's snug  but it lacks one thing

Memory.

 

An active imagination won’t bring it back 

but it gives me a sense of artistic feeinging

And that’s half the battle, being well.