I am old enough to take naps now
And not feel guilty that I should be doing anything
Should, Should and Should a gang of grave diggers in a story by Dickens
Or
Shovel, Plank and Fork?
Should I be useless, inferior, depressed
Or
A voice?
A poem
A song
A solution to world poverty
Starvation
Inside my head
A little man tut-tutting
Dressed in a frock coat
Wing collar
Tiny wire framed glasses
Held in place by the eternal frown groove
At the top of the ski jump of his nose
“Mr Tutworth, be so kind as to pass me the opium pipe.”
“Mr Old please refrain from toasting Mr Tutworth’s buttocks
Over the fire.”
Ha, ha
I like the state of nap where sounds
and
Thoughts come in and out like the soundtrack of a fat cat’s breathing
Children’s voices in the schoolyard
The slow whirring rumbling of engines overhead from
An old plane on its way to the airport
The swearing drivers as they try to navigate the narrow street outside
Oh and Miss Cicada
How I love your joy
Chattering like the stretched voices of sufi music
I get that
Really, I get that
As the eternal should be
Shared in a sacred place
Secrets, lies, the truth, profanity, God thrown into the air
Like soap bubbles in the Shouldness
“Should, Should, Should” the grave digger’s chant
Dreaming of beer and soft thighs
“Mr God be so kind as to be kind, there, that’s a dear thing.”