Something Happens Poem by Alistair Graham

We are waiting for something
Not sure what to expect
It is seven in the evening,
the sun is hot on our skin

We should probably have supper
but we don't want to
miss it if it comes
We smoke another cigarette,
drink lemon juice from the fridge,
sit crossed legged on the blanket

Something happens
Lucille looks at me, I look at her
We walk to the kitchen
to fry soya mince and steam vegetables
We walk to the table to eat and drink

In the same way, after supper
we walk to the local pub;
we ascend into heaven