we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections

I am the other woman
the one that never gets the man
I am all his lustful thoughts dreamed up
I am her nightmare in a can

You see she will never give him all he needs
and he will never leave her a fact I now believe
She has his family and his past
and I am the woman who keeps coming in last

I am the other woman...
I know I am not everyone's biggest fan
but I loved him the way he really wants
and the way that she never truly can

the new moon's coy sheen,
the starlings' nosestuds gleam;
light's secrets in darkness!

Silence is our deeper song
its here we fully touch.

Are fully known.

The gritter lorry, bright orange,
travels past, often

war waged on black ice
hiding in plain sight.

'Hilda' the mad Honda,
goes to Alan today.
She needs fixing,
by an experienced hand.
Alan lives close by,
such a boon on a small isle,
to have a good mechanic
to hand over 'sick' 'Hilda' to.