Spaghetti

spag

The clocks sprung forward what can it mean.
Do I sleep more, or less, or just the same.
As I keek out of one eye, all seems unchanged.
Pinned to the bed by multiple limbs.
Two elbows moored in my cheekbones,
Whilst hot little handies pinch on to my skin.

My mind, always the first to rise.
“No matter the time;
There is lots to get done!”
Trapped in the loveliest family spaghetti,
HUSH! I shout silently,
You will wake my babies!

Its Sunday, a day of rest,
No, No, get up and iron their vests!
The three pounds for toy fund!
Do you have it ready?
Here comes the mum, who forgot its Monday,
Again.

I view my world upside down,
At the edge of the bed.
Books, and bras,
Oh half eaten croissants,
Shite the Greek will moan.
No crummies in my bed,
He DRONES on and on.

I begin my arise,
Falling silently to the floor.
Carefully posting myself down the stairs,
I manage to avoid all the booby trap Lego.
Tea, heating on, puppy out.
Christ its cold.

Spring has sprung.
Despite the snow,
Wee daffodils look hopeful,
I retreat noiselessly,
And slip through the door.

Chaos is here.
Laughter and sneezes,
Demands for warm milk.
My spaghetti relocated,
Onto the couch.

“You don’t have TIME,
To do as they do”!
Then my daughter yells out,
“Bring the parmesan mama”
And well I cannot resist;
Can you?

 

Happy Sunday xx

 

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