It's not an official record

It's not an official record

I don’t use a phone that way

But the door was open,

As I had left it

To stand under the sky

There is always a weight to it

Sometimes it is heavier

Brutally oppressive.

The clouds can be a burden

The trees don’t mind

As they stand looking up

Waving gently

At the birds

Inviting them to sit for a while

To enjoy the conversation.

The chitchat

Is mindful.

The walls of houses have little to say

About what lies within

But are thankful for a window of opportunity

To shed a little light on.

I step back inside

Nothing has changed

The cupboard door is open

As if waiting

For me to realise how much I needed

To close it

Which I did

It is interesting how the unfinished

Always interferes with

The ability to move on.

There are a few ghosts

Who follow this line of thinking

They wait to interact

Some are reluctant

A little petulant

I guess they have other places to be

But those that do show

Are always in need of a rational explanation

For their lack of progress.

I know how they feel

It is a mutual negotiation

We swap sob stories for a while

Before they drift away

Hopefully wiser for the experience.

I rarely am

Which is why

I keep returning to the cupboard door.

I’m sure I closed it earlier

But the damn thing

Is open again.

If it were the fridge, I wouldn’t mind

I would just get a beer

And put it down to experience

Which sounds like prescience

But I don’t like the idea

Of knowing something

Before it happens.

Where would the fun be in that?

The phone never rings

I keep it on silent

For unknown callers

If you don’t act on a prompt,

Like it or not,

You deserve all that comes along.