Could Be Poetry

A morning out alone.
Just tripping to the supermarket.
Just me in the car doing 50 with 5 jute bags.
I love Morrisons.
Never realising how good it feels doing plain nothing things.

Then lunch
Spitting fresh lamb's liver darkening in the pan
with curling bacon and tawny onions, its mates
canned potatoes boiling their bald heads off
and plain common baked beans plopped out and nuked
Then, for afters,  strong tea and gingernuts
lifelong favourites

With sustenance, warmth, came drowsiness
with that, restless legs
flung out
lurching kicking
falling lids, shallow breath
I was amiable though, readily able to act
and, as mother dribbled,
I could have made love