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.

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.

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.

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