To-do List

The postman arrives

with the to-do list of doom

holding it out like the poison it is,

dripping its case for me to assess

as I take it from his trembling hands.

Dust off those forgotten tomes.

Arrange by publication date,

then colour. Colour that milk

with stronger tea. Write emails.

Phone doctors. Book appointments with clients.

Phone your mother.

Oh no.

Phone your mother.

I knew this was coming.

Phone your mother.


Phone. Your. Mother.

No, please!

Fine. But you know I’ll be back tomorrow.