eight feb sunday

wake at seven remember waking in the night
machine says eight hours forty two minutes sleep
no miracle,
get up, clothes on , it is eight fifty,
go to bathroom, freezing cold today,
no rhyme to be made, out of rythm
Son cleaning up room
computer problems
can he think of ought else?


commiserate
morning hug


down the steps, out the door,
all is covered in snow.

Down the alley,
see a small boy with his mother in front of the church,
he is chortling with peleasure at the snow, the slush,

walk through the arcades
to the Mareis bakery
stand in queue
eight brezen
to be aten.

for sunday breakfast.
Mother and small boy arrive at the bakers too,
smile at the kid.
mother looks askance
my o my what on earth has wildo done now?


On the way back hear the priest intoning prayers in the church
and the choir singing to the singing flock