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Fat Cat's First Book Poetry

Instant Bereavement

What would you like?
All I can make is tea.
What shall I say – all
I can think is lines of words.
I’ll wash the dishes. You just
sit there and have a drink
while I tidy up this mess –
It saves me having to think.
Did I actually sleep six hours?
Has all that time passed by
like Christmas Eve, and morning
has arrived sudden but awaited.
Fed up with my company
am I now – I can’t think why.
I could go out, I could sleep,
drink, write, cry, die.

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