In The Evening

30 November, 2005

And then I sit here and wait,
for she is talking to a friend,
and knitting a woolen thing,
for somebody known and loved,
and the other sleeps in midst,
of love, scrapes, tears and laughter.

And now she sits, knits and smiles,
that woolen thing, large, high tech,
with silvery space age rods,
clickerty-click, it’s quiet, hush,
no mouse or noise, here or there,
dark is it, through the windows,
no white moon, stars or lights,
just sounds, metal upon metal,
and the dark, slow odd rumble,
from an overdrawn stomach.

Knowingly, she looks at me,
as thou waiting, and waiting.
Oh! She is waiting…
the DVD..
..it has to be started..
.. but I’m still writing this verse..
……. oh well…

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