At Noon Poem by Ian Keenan
At Noon
Sat here looking at
A china cockerel
And a Cardiff postcard -
Fifteenth of August, nineteen sixty.
It's cold in this loft,
My mind picking at
Thoughts of my family,
Work, and money,
Grains that hope like demented frogs.
And soon the clock will strike
And joy will sit with boredom,
And we will eat -
At noon.
Friday, January 29, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/26/2024 1:55:48 AM # 1.0.0.1119
