saturday

a poem by Leif Phillips, Australia - poetry writer, author, poet

Saturday morning coffee
cold gnashing at the cup
log splitter consumed by ice
water by degrees does sup
somehow we get the fire going
burning twig ignites small flame
along with crumpled newspaper
heat tearing at the blame
the radio is crackling
like it did a hundred years before
although the years may be just thirty
and seem like so much more
back when I was fifteen
and you called me just a pup
now youre in the kitchen
happily making a second cup
news somehow traverses fiction
dispelling thoughts of caffeine, cold and age
that the footy had been cancelled
and my heart was filled with rage
how could the umpires be so blind
how could their sight be such a failure
that every umpire in the land
fell off the edge of our Australia
I could hardly believe it
my ears condemned themselves as lies
that not a single sound vision
could be found in their eyes
and yet there was final proof
a uniform fate on them did befall
carrying them all off to heaven
where God was promptly done holding the ball.

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