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I watch the cigarette burn itself out

in a crowded ashtray

Another dead end strangled by the smoke

And Laid to rest

The living room is dying on its arse

The furniture refuses to fall apart

light bulb flickers, toying with its own life

The air is clouded with smoke and doubt

The TV remote is too far away

For me to switch to the TV on

I’m stoned enough to laugh at anything

I smile at my shoes

I call my wife Beryl

To make her laugh

Whilst she’s taking a bath

Listening to Tom Waits

If this house was human

It would lead a contented life

If this house was the world

There would be no wars.

©JMN2024