Camphill School Breakfast
You get up at six
to feed the kids...
while I flake out again,
the Holsten beer can yellowish,
in the first light,
you plant a de-caff by the bedside,
and put on your underwear in front
of the door, the soft plump fruit
dangles from your fleshly branches,
with one eye I watch you
all the way...
beautiful curves and so much
morning grows stronger,
along the curtain edge,
my head is a little bit sore...
a mixture of sorts - last night
James my son walks through the door
dozy in the half dark,
and crawls in beside me,
whilst you grab something from the table,
in a puff of movement, gone,
and turn the snib...
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