For My Presents

I've had a real struggle with my poem today. Not only because I'm posting it much earlier than usual and haven't had my post-evening meal sit down but also because I think my brain is, very slowly, drying to powder.

However, I'm orf out for m'big sister's birfday tonight (check out her blog featuring some wonderful artworks here: miladyprinneth), so I'm sure a wee jaunt round the finer side of West Yorkshire's night time "scene" will inspire something more in me tomorrow. 

ALSO, while this poem is about a sad day, let it be known, I am not sad today. HERE GOES NUTHIN':

Ode to a Sad Day

I was late to the party.

I brought a Kurdish woman with me,

as part of my costume.

When we arrived,

it turned out I hadn’t been invited

at all.

We went up into the mountains.

She was wailing;

long, clean notes

like a washing machine on a spin cycle.

“Look,” I said.

“I can’t help that they didn’t want me,

you weren’t even involved.

Take solace in that,

and shut up.”

Then she picked the sun right out of me

with a long finger nail

and went running down the mountain

whooping.

“Well,” I thought to myself.

“If this is life,

I ain’t buying it.”

And then I packed up my day

and went home.