Sunday Morning Tea
You tickle me in bed
Gently at first, then harder.
Come on, you know the rules
My flat, my turn to make the tea.
Five more minutes, I plead, just five.
You roll your eyes
And say you know how long my "five minutes" can be.
Giving up, getting up
I wander into the kitchen,
Feeling as though I am floating.
Sun beams pinpoint dust specks on the window pane
That needed cleaning long ago.
Tomorrow, I may cry on the train
My boss may shout
I may want to hurl things at this kitchen wall.
But not today.
Today, there is tea.
We will drink it together, side by side in bed, saying little.
My head against your shoulder.
If you have any comments on this poem, Juliet England would be pleased to hear from you.