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,
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.