Friday shiraz

poetry

Reflect.
Not too hard.
Thoughts aren’t cheap.
While it breathes,
undo your top two buttons.
Fire off a text or two.
Ponder the wordy label.
Check the fridge for cheese.

With the first sip,
be classy.
Swirl and glare or
you’ll forget what it feels like.
Sit down.
Take your damp boots off.
It tastes better that way.

While you wait for company,
don’t sigh.
Text someone else.
Put an album on.
Think about how tired you are,
how tired you’ll be
after just. one. glass.

As you unwind,
sip slowly.
Roll your head around.
Sing badly and casually.
Top the glass up.
Open a window.
Don’t rush it.
Meditate to the velvet.

When you’re half a bottle in
and the doorbell rings,
don’t hurry towards it.
Be calm.
Smooth your fringe and
check your teeth in the mirror.
Feel the scarlet syrup
linger.
Take a second or two longer than
necessary.
Open the door.
Begin.

tea

poetry

there’s a fire in the city;
it was not started by me,
whiskey drunk.
i am only dancing,
dancing in the ember-
snow.
the reds are killing
the blues, i am green,
my things can fit in
a backpack so i dance,
dance,
dance in the fire.
my eyes are fed
with the fire when
the wind blows and
if a big enough gust
comes along i
wont fight it.