Being alone on a saturday night – New Poem (1st draft)

Being alone on a Saturday

I clean the fridge,

chip away at the swelling of rough ice

bunched at the back.

I could make a go at the freezer,

but it’s a two person job.

 

I get rid of the tough broccoli and cauliflower,

the rotten bean sprouts and wilting spinach,

stinking in its plastic bag.

 

I start cooking dinner at ten to five,

while repeating common Norwegian phrases

and deciding which DVD to slump in front of.

 

I wash one fork, put one nest of noodles

in a pan with a little water.

There will be too much to eat, again,

and I’ll pack it into a plastic container

for dinner tomorrow or the day after.

 

I put my phone in my trouser pocket,

fully charged.

 

I can hear birds, but none land on the back wall,

it’s covered with the broken bottoms of bottles.

 

I go through all my bills, methodically,

do stuff that should be rushed

on a morning, five minutes before

an all important meeting.

 

I head bang in my living room

to Master Of Puppets,

while someone next door laughs at someone else,

and clicks on the central heating.

 

I take my medication for the evening,

and turn off all the lights, but one.

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