'Good evening', as I come through the door
shutting out the noise and dirt that now gathers at my welcome mat
where I wipe my shoes and leave my feet.

Hanging my head on the hat stand I am home,
today's news is getting older in the paper under my arm,
print leaves it's imprint on my white starched
office shirt.

In the kitchen there are dead animals in the oven,
cooking amongst things from the ground,
bubbling and boiling,
mother natures bounty bought from sterile supermarkets.

Fresh air is packaged in re-usable cans
re-cycled, made into planes that fly over great oceans
and mountain ranges, deserts,
where Bedouin tents blow in the breeze.

Waiting on the bus
sunglasses worn by female drivers,
scratched surface,
cigarette hanging,
redundant postbox,
red,
thoughts about letters and the written word.

A future with no pens.

Head shakes.

The pen is mightier than the sword will cause confusion in years to come.

"What is a pen?

a question from a future child - confused looking at pictures of biros.

These relics.

These dodos.

The man has a calendar with coloured circular stickers on certain days.

They signify something.

These sticky stickers are stuck
but not random,
no.

There is a logic of which only he knows

Pavement where
an egg shell should not be

that perfect shape
fractured with spider leg cracks

across the surface
of its world

how did they get there?
those Nazca Lines?

And the amount of discarded shoes seems to be multiplying each day,

the busted boot on the traffic island
its been there for weeks

a plimsoul
childs shoe

strangely,
they're all left footed

is there significance in this?

I look for patterns in everyday things,

TV Schedules
wallpaper

colouring books
Sudoku squares

floor tiles
Tube maps

football scores

I keep looking for clues
like a retired detective who just can't let go

The clowns are angry
but they don't show it.

Behind white faces there is no hint of the resentment
that grows underneath comically sized trousers.

The clowns know they only make sense
in a certain context
underneath a big top
modelling balloons at young Bens 7th birthday.

Not here in your garden
viewed from behind a curtain
4.53am.

...skims the far reaches of his bowl
trying to remember if he's been there before.

He feeds amongst castles.

The surgeons listened to jaunty be
bop while they cut through his cranium.

A metal plate was inserted,
dissecting memories and thoughts,
causing confusion between
his now and then.

He left hospital with a funny taste in his mouth
which he could not name
or shake.

During the period of convalescence
his children tried to cheer him up
by attaching fridge magnets to his head.

a cow, a banana, the Tower of London,
a badge reminding them to Give Blood.

One fridge magnet secured in place a drawing,
reminding him of childhood pictures which were
seventy five percent blue sky
and twenty five percent thick
bands of green grass

and all the family stood outside
where sunflowers were bigger than houses.