SLAPPING ON THE JAM


Listen to us, we two banging on about
dirty dishes and dirty socks on the floor.
Ah my sister and what do we really mean eh?
That our life is shit, that we feel empty, wanting, wanting………. ……………
.someone to come along and take us away from all this?

“He snores.”
(I want a toy boy who will keep me awake all night, play with my hair, suck my toes)

“We don’t communicate.”
(I need a man who will speak to me of poetry, the moon and the stars)

“I’m tired.”
(Bored more like. Searching the eyes of strangers for a clue to myself)
Look at us, for goodness sake. bare faced,
hair scraped back.
It’s practical, like wearing a cardigan over pyjamas, all day.
Oh my friend, it’s not really anybody’s fault.
We just drifted here.

Life, life…………
brought us to this backwater at forty something.

“I ache today.”
(Avoidance wears me down. I am a shadow)

“I got these vitamins.”
(As if a few handfuls of C and E will make everything rosy)

“Why don’t we.”
(Plan to do something radical, cheer ourselves up. But we won’t: .too much effort.)
We speak in circles, knowing, that really,
it’s not so bad,
this middle aged married treadmill
of cleaning, cooking and caring.

At least, at least…………
we get a bunch of flowers at the weekend
and breakfast in bed about once a month
and that’s something to be thankful for………..

“He washed up last night.”
(He thought he might be on a promise)

“He told me he’s getting a raise.”
(Thank God, now I won’t have to get a job)

“I suppose I love him really.”
(Yeah, well, better the devil you know
and anyway, who else would want these wrinkles?)

We laugh.
If only they could hear us
moaning into our coffee cups, munching our toast,
slapping down our men as we slap on the jam
seeking a plan.

We might, we might…………
go out tonight, we say.
Rummage in the bottom of a draw for some
old lippy and a bit of mascara,
shake out the wrinkles in our dancing gear, affix our silly grins.

“Isn’t that film on later.”
(Don’t really want to make the effort)

“The one with….”
(It hurts to be mutton dressed as lamb)

“Tell you what. I’ll come round with a
bottle of Mavro Daphne and we can watch it together.”
(and dream about firm young bodies and smile, no need for words)

“More coffee? How about a doughnut, they’re apple ones.”

“Cheers, isn’t it time for The Archers?”