First time,
February was just fine,
although I was walking on thin lines,
never had the doubt that you weren't mine.
Then the first Saturday came,
our sanities were the ones that remain,
something so plain,
brought us joy,
one sentence only comes to mind,
nothing will ever ruin this.

Yeah, the week went by,
never believed that time can fly,
but here we are,
another Saturday,
and yo...

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Any Winter Saturday In Nineteen Seventy

multi-coloured, sweet, cloying battenberg
taking away the bitter taste of defeat
it’s yellow and pink uniformity
In sharp contrast to the soft curves of the settee
putting ones and two’s and crosses
next to the selections on the pools
a dirty yellow stain hangs over the chair
where my father coughs and splutters on his tea

blacks and whites and ...

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