It’s in the quiet 
when I hear most
silence brings its time 
most things just wait 
and wait and wait 
often turning into nothing 
because nothing is better 
for most people getting 
whilst exciting proves dangerous 
everyone dreams few fulfill
why then do we 
carry around a bucket 
only to remain empty 

This feels
just as
frustrating as
when the 
meatball misses
the bib
and lands
on my
trousers what
good then 
is a
bib if
the meatball
does what 
it wants 

Some days
even words
fail me 
hovering there 
just out
of reach
just like 
you do 
when you’re 
getting dressed 
to go 

Everything outside 
is white 
as though 
angels and 
wishes came 
to visit 
and only 
wishes stayed 

What do we
call this new 
having been old
an admission of 
a once omission 
the truth of
a once lie
maybe a second 
chance a do
over of something 
once done badly 
or perhaps something 
fresh after once 
having spoiled how 
did we ever 
describe this once