I hate you, afternoons, you fill me with inertia,
You always did stink.
Long, long periods, facing out to the front,
fixating on the blackboard.
Hoping to make hometime without the
ruler from Miss Davis.
Later: a pile of homework, before my egg
and chip tea finally called time on you.
Later: the office clock, mocking and unkind,
It’s only twenty to four, it crowed,
the second half of the day is but young.
Later: Long afternoons with pre-school children,
tetchy and climbing, ignoring the potty on
the wet living room floor.
Dreaming of when Sooty would appear on the
My only real friend.
Later: School pick-ups, with the razor sharpness
of the most competitive of mothers.
Walking back deflated, before swimming and
Longing to switch the lamps on at 7 o’clock,
the children’s bedclothes turned down.
Later: Empty nest afternoons, staring at
an immaculate living room, heaving with
The light changing on my Womans Weekly,
counting down to another empty evening.
You are truly loathsome,
I love it when winter dims