Cold, crouched with hands numb The light flickers and the wind cuts deep Leaning over the warm glass globe It provides heat and light Pumping the fuel, building pressure All is well when you hear the sound of a hissing Tilley lamp.
I squeeze the small sliver of steel between my fingers The flat end pokes out through my dry, cracked hand Grasping the wooden handle I prepare to swing the lump of steel As I look down I see steel nail next to finger nail I start with a small tap but I am already thinking about hitting the next nail I lift the hammer high above my head and swing with a ferocious force The finger nail is squashed flat, it throbs and quickly turns black I take a moment to absorb the pain before I am ready to start again Steel nail next to black nail Focus on hitting the steel nail
We sit on the couch The television dominates our attention The aroma of beans on toast fills the small room Some are eating Some are preening Knees bent, feet tucked up there is an occasional click And tonight the toast seems to have an extra crunch
Loaded full, Wobbling, tilting, tugging, Down the path, Over the bridge, Along the plank, Stuck against a stone, The weight shifts forward, And just short of the final destination, The full barrow is now empty.
The fence needs fixing, I'm sure we can make it through, Edging forward all seems good, Too late the wheels start to spin, The chassis sinks, The heart sinks, A long walk back and time reflect, How easy it is to get stuck in mud.
Rolling along with his hair tied back, Looking left, looking right, It is close, very close, His nose confirms he has found the culprit, The foul waft of a gone off ball of stilton, Only the cheese man knows a gone off stink, In amongst the putrid smell of ripening stilton.