Poetry

With the setting sun
our dog has puppies 
and gets five of them under a bush
(perfect tiny Jack Russell’s)
and I leave them as the evening comes
not wanting to disturb her
where she is covering them
 
 and in the kitchen I am washing dishes
are moments away from the television’s dim witted rush
and I hear you, my darling, laughing
and that sound seems sweet in my ears
and although I do not understand
the complexities, heartaches and miracles of life fully
I feel lucky to be your man
 
and in the distance the turbines whine
at the Impala Platinum Refinery,
the siren of a train rings into the night
while lorries and cars rush past on the highway
and although our finances are tight
life is beautiful and it’s really great
and the dishes are washed and dried and packed away
and I return to you
and are away from the cold world outside.