Maths

It seems that life is
as they describe war;

long periods of boredom
with a few seconds of utter terror.

Except that life, if you’re lucky,
is mostly good enough days

or days filled up with the shopping
or the school run, the buying of trousers,

making sausage casserole,
examing your pores in the mirror,

television, haircuts,
conversation with an aunt,

promotion or not, worrying about the bus,
the weather, birthdays to buy for or be bought for,

cleaning the stove, headaches, sport, soap,
watching windows or looking out of them, and so on and on,

until without much warning
something disasterous happens

by way of a walking out, accidents involving children or cars,
body part problems that will never be perfectly fixed,

grief, preparatory death (pets etc.)
and then the real thing of others close by,

before finally your own
(the last being the least of your worries, afterwards).

If we can’t make more out of these ordinary days,
it hardly seems a decent equation.

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