A shirt is shaken, sprawled over a board.
Her smile is fixed, eyes glazed
hours pass by as the iron runs.
Life evaporates with the steam.
The corpse is well turned out,
the headstone reads “she kept a tidy house”.
Dust piles upon dust
falling layer upon layer
dancing on sunbeams in shafts of light
piercing silent rooms.
Bed clothes lie ruffled.
breakfast pots sit in the sink.
No-one cares they run through fields
climb over styles
gather mud on their boots
eat picnics on blankets
whilst the tap drips into a bowl
waiting, waiting, waiting.
Wind-blown hair, sun burnt skin,
smiles light up the meadow,
birds chatter along with laughter
on the breeze, the dandelion clock
sends parachutes to mark the hours
of this endless day.