Summer is wasted on the suburbs
Shining a lamp on blank pages
There’s a fizz in my head I could put through the wall
The walls of this flat
These beige walls…
Just move the laundry rack and charge
The neighbours won’t notice
Over the hum of mowers
Of hedge trimmers
And football results.
She’s in the corner, quiet again
Staring at her phone, puffy eyed.
I’ll go to the cupboard and drag on my sadness.
Tomorrow can screw.
Wake me in the morning and I’ll blow smoke in its eyes.