Maybe I'll Have Noodles

In the kitchen with Andy, waiting for vegetables to cook, talking about Dead Can Dance's last album. Off to the pub after dinner. Mid-weeker down the Evening Star. Too many buses for the day, one back from work, one back to the pub, one back home again.
Must remember to get my washing out when I return. Must remember to dry it for tomorrow.
Andy confronts his dinner with a puzzled stance.
My vegetables boil.
I still haven't decided what to have with them yet. I would have had ham but I need to save that for my sandwiches tomorrow.
Maybe I'll have noodles.

Bin on Fire

This was on Monday.

It was lunchtime, and I was walking back to work. I passed a bin that had some smoke coming out from it. I paused to look, expecting to see nothing much. The inside of the bin was on fire. Someone had obviously thrown a cigarette in that had lit some papers. I walked on, and was going to ignore it. I had, however, been reading the headlines in a newspaper window of the Brazil club fire where 200+ people had died. I had crossed road the road by this time, but with thoughts of fiery infernos, I crossed back over the road to the bin again - still on fire. What do people do when a bin is on fire? Do they call for a fire engine? Other people were walking past and were glancing at the bin, but did not seem unduly concerned.

I went in the charity shop the bin is outside of. They'll know what to do I thought they're a charity shop. Why I thought that charity shop workers would have some kind of important information on what to do in the case of fiery bins I'm not quite sure. I queued up patiently. 'I don't know if you know' I began 'but there's a bin on fire outside. I don't know if you want to ring someone'. The woman looked at me like I was mad 'Who do you think we should call?' she asked me. I shrugged and went back to work. The bin was still on fire.

Night-Poplars

Kind night, with your warms winds and intrusions, winding lanes and the sea, I can't taste the salt and can't remember to imagine I can.

Footsteps in the hallway.

The quiet silence of the lamp.

(there are silences that are not quiet, remember)

Words occur to me today; night-poplars.

A blur of memories, shadowy-raggedness above a hedge,

or hedges, around my grandparents house.

Dark and troubled skies.

Remembering rain.

Church spire Sunday afternoons.
Wish I could sleep there now.