Keeping Busy – A Poem By Carol J Forrester

The bins have been emptied,
their silver bellies lined
and sprayed to quell the stink
from last week’s puddling condensation
tack dried at the base.
In the background the washing thumps,
thuds, thunks,
throws itself around drum wet
and clinging,
till the spin cycle sticks it tight
to the very edge of a whining whirl.
Clementine clouds each counter,
cloth swept of crumbs
so they shine when the clouds part,
sun splitting through the grey
and spilling onto the tiles,
knuckled into a gleam on hands and knees,
so your face stares back up at me
tight lipped and furious,
about to speak till the sponge cuts you off.
I can soap over those features
but eventually it all dries out
and there you are watermarked
sprawled across this floor,
elbows and knees against the tiles,
and the dishwasher bleeping
that it is time.

Tonight’s DVerse Challenge is to focus on adding a ‘turn’ or a ‘window’ into our poem. I’ll admit my focus has drifted slightly at the end of this, as something keeps beeping down in the kitchen and investigation is probably in order.

All To Market #DVersePoets #TuesdayPoetics

When the backboard drops they spill like water over a fall,

woolly bodies frothing from the flight decks,

feet upon each others’ backs.

 

There is a boy behind the hurdles,

already knee bent in anticipation,

fingers spread for the catch.

 

Outside, a woman is selling cauliflower.

Holds the head of it like a newborn

between the palms of her hands.

 

A farmer rattles pounds in his fist,

counts his luck,

passed it on to the winning bid.

 

In a corridor there is a circle

of bowed heads and five pence jumps,

till the circumference is a singular.

 

A lone man is loading up,

clicks the gates on what he brought,

tries not to fumble the catch.

 

Someone whispers at an absence,

shakes a head at suspicion,

does a math of miles inside their head.

 

They wait to hear the hammer fall.

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