Even On A Grey Day Poem by Stephen Brian Brady

the contents of the day's delivered in unopened tins
by Angels
and we scratch around the canvas
rolled-out by their shadows

as the darkness slinks away
into the closet yesterday

and as it all explodes

there's only the hanging-on
to knives and forks and spoons
and how the milk is tasteless
in the quiet of the breakfast-rooms

we pray to the jet-planes
heading to the stars
and tap-out marmalado
'til the fire ignites the jars