LUNCH Poem by K. Schippers

Does four have a lot to do
this afternoon? Look
in the garden, four

visitors, glasses, plates.
Do the maths. And what
if three's just counted

crusty rolls? Then
that number will still
smell of bread. Did

five just peel off twenties?
It's rolling in it. Two
is teary-eyed, just there,

getting up from a fall.
Stop counting.
Give the numbers

a break. Leave them be.
Only nine words to go.
The garden falls silent.