Hours

 I stood for an hour today
intently watching two
frantic pigeons shagging
got bored then went and
sorted out my bags for life
and other plastic bagging

I sat on the comfy chair for an hour
mindfully contemplating
the meaning of wife
I blinked, looked down and noticed,
hiding under the sofa,
another fuckin bag for life

I lay on the couch for an hour
worrying what happens
to my bags for life
when I die
but then they are meant to be bags for life,
so if I die before them,
it was all a fuckin lie

I stood at the sink for an hour
looking out the kitchen window
at the gnomes in the garden
what did they get up to at night,
in the dark, behind the bushes,
now naked and disregarding

I sat for an hour in front of my computer
at a blank page in Word
nothing came to mind
no fiction, non-fiction, no poems
not even a single word or idea,
no inspiration of any kind

I lay in bed for an hour,
wide awake, rage building
as I listen to you snoring like a sow
wondering, if pigs snore,
is the noise they make
more like the mooing of a cow

I stood patiently in the kitchen for an hour
watching the wash and spin cycles
of the washing machine
I then, for an hour, put the floor brush
behind my head draping my arms over it,
posing like James Dean

I sat at the piano for an hour
looking at a picture of you,
the one taken when you used to be relatively content
I wondered if you'd found someone new
to treat like shit, or if you were on your own,
left alone, left to ferment

I lay on what used to be your side
of the bed for an hour,
to see if it was as cold as my side
your side was much, much colder, almost as cold
as the broken heart you left inside

I stood, for an hour at the cemetery gates,
we used to joke about it being
the dead center of town
I smiled at our joke and the moss covered gravestones
strangely, for a change,
it didn't get me down

I sat on the bench in the cemetery for hours,
staring at a particular gravestone
I remembered the saying,
This one’s got your name on it
This one indeed had my name on it
And beneath the manicured turf
My bones were laying