A cigarette lies fuming on the table.
"Does he have to come along to everything?"
An empty glass is backed up in the corner.
"Well he's my mate and it won't hurt to bring."
The cigarette is held and briefly flares up.
"You're mate he may be but he always talks such tosh."
The empty glass is put back in the cupboard,
and no reply is made under that cosh.
The cigarette now finished is extinguished.
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt just one more time."
The empty glass has still a bit of soap sud.
"Thanks, I'm sure it all will be just fine"
Elsewhere an orange carton stands in sunlight.
"I'm sorry darling got to get a move on."
Beside a buttered scone with marmalade.
"You're just the same you all think you're the smooth 'un."
And now the orange carton's in the chiller.
"I wish I'd worn a coat its cold today"
The buttered scone ...
"Why am i a buttered scone?
I'm a person not a thing,
with far more subtlety
than you can cram into a breakfast bite."
I was just trying to paint hazy caricatures
I wasn't being lazy,
"Well that's fine for the others but not for me,
careful when you draw us and word us in your poems,
for we may prove more real than you expect,
and want our own longings and lodgings,
your should treat us
with a little more respect"
You're ... you're rhyming! But ...
"Yes. You're not the only one,
who can have with words some fun,
I'm off to make my own way now,
thanks for writing anyhow."
"But before I go
and by the way.
I didn't fancy
that Orange Carton