How not to waste an hour.

Sometimes you work at a poem for days, and even then it isn't finished. This one took approximately 3 and a half minutes. Let me know what you think.



Sometimes there’s a breeze
On a May afternoon.

Often there’s a gale.
Busy, self important.
Chicago town.

Some winds barely register,
Touching nothing.
Affecting no one.

The monsoon gusts hit everyone.
They lack affect.
They’re gone by dinner.

But sometimes,
The wind hits your washing line.
You can scramble all you like,
It’s too late.
From Calvin to Primark,
Pants litter the sky.

And then you buy a replacement pair
That land in your neighbour’s garden.

That wind is different.
You won’t hang your boxers out to dry anymore.