How there are things 
you always do, in spite 
of the weather, the day. 

Like how the kettle is the
first thing you touch,
and coaxing its urgent whistle. 

You let the tea bag darken the 
clear, needing it strong but 
softened by one teaspoon of 

There are also things chosen 
seemingly on a whim, the rain 
freckles the window so you crack 
an egg, 

if it's a Friday two, in summer a 
smooth yoghurt, sliced 
grapefruit for bitter balance. 

It has been curiosity 
that brought me to you, 
distant at first, 

you wouldn't have seen me, 
still in the sway of the oak 
that overhangs your garden. 

I don't know if it was wise 
to come in through your
window but I chanced away 

to the trust of your hand 
running along my back 
and a full saucer of milk.

About the Author:
Glen Wilson is a multi-award winning Poet from Portadown. He won the Seamus Heaney Award for New Writing  in 2017, the Jonathan Swift Creative Writing Award in 2018 and The Trim Poetry competition in 2019. His poetry collection An Experience on the Tongue is out now with Doire Press.
Twitter @glenhswilson


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