There was the not wanting to get up, for a start:
The insufferably-insistent, banshee-wail of the alarm
Slicing its shrill through my sleep like a searing hot knife through butter;
The vague, dull awareness of there having been a dream,
Now shrouded by a bleak and impenetrable pea-souper of Dickensian proportions,
Forever beyond the reach of recall.
Creeping gingerly, still-half-asleepedly over a pair of Retrievers on the stairs,
Toes cursing mildly under their breath at the cold french carrelage
And the long-lost intent to replace the slippers the dogs had dismembered.
Discovering the storage heaters had not delivered
On their remote-controlled, digitally-confirmed promise
To charge up cheap overnight and take the edge off the morning chill
Habitually creeping its unwelcome way round window and door frames,
And that one unit was still stubbornly stone cold,
Even if it's circulator fan was faithfully wafting
Glacial air to all four corners of the lounge.
The dinner party crockery we blithely decided could 'wait 'til tomorrow',
Now making more than a compelling case for our immediate attention:
Congealed 'Yeller Fish' leftovers merrily self-supergluing knives & forks to plates,
And producing a feline olefactory orgasm to attract every stray in our street.
The bathroom linen basket skyscrapering its raffia coolie hat heavenwards
Under the uncontainable, volcanic magma-mound of a weekend's family washing.
The car engine taking that extra heartbeat or two to cough into life
As the winter mornings begin to take their toll and thicken my engine oil
Making me wonder whether it'll make it round to Spring without a full service.
No space in the car park.
Having to prowl the one-way system like a panther
Hoping to make a parallel-parking kill before the lion's close in.
Booting up, plugging-in and logging on
Only to find that someone's stolen the data-projector
Leaving three wires and a ceiling pole
As some kind of annoying memorial.
'Plan-BLT', then: 'Before Latest Technology'
Better known in the trade as 'chalk & talk'.
Quick trip to the supermarket on the way home,
Trolley pulling relentlessly to one side like an over-sized, headstrong puppy.
'Where d'you put the ones in need of repair? ', I said, helpfully.
Came the one word reply: 'Nowhere'.
Some sign of heat – Hallelujah!
Forgot the dog food: Bugger.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem