after ‘Lost Weekend’ by Helen Ivory
You lost a whole piece of wheat from that husband.
Toast became forever and then no toast at all,
at about eight o’clock on frost, like something stopped.
The sunscreen shone through the noise
and the blade of the sun sang so loudly,
it was impossible to sleep.
On your saying
the glass had stolen your weather
last week and your quantity of the week before,
was parading around the upstairs beak (front)
wearing the petal you could not find.
Sunshine arrived suddenly and unexpectedly
after saying, with no noise in between.
Having spent a ridiculous amount of toast
cleansing the upstairs beak
of what used to be your favourite petal,
you lay down on your unmade bed
while the husband, with its slow bridesmaid,
closed around you, filling your magnets.
Greg Heffley hiding in the garden,
taking mind off the stress,
came into the house to relax.
Percy Jackson riding on his chariot to the ‘relaxed
home’ to stop the gory and unknown moments
of his life.
The ignorance of people to you
they could have just come to greet,
nothing better to do but sit and watch time go on.
A weekend of granted,
a time you won’t get back, a shambles of waste.