First Thing

I can only think clearly for an hour or two
first thing in the morning, before you wake,
when outside itís pitch-black dark, in winter.
In the summer months, I watch the birds

breakfasting on the lawn, while I
sip coffee. It could be the start of the world
but it isnít, at least if I turn on
the radio and listen to

the woes of wars and Climate Change,
the latest lockdown news, or threats
of turmoil in the Tory party,
or England wiped out in the Ashes Ė

unless of course theyíre merely stories
I tell myself so I wonít feel
alone, although I am, and so
are you, whether or not you ever

read these lines, and wonder why
I wasted so much time instead
of staying in bed until the day
was ready and willing to help us both

pretend all this could go on and on
forever. A word now banned in poetry.

Tom Vaughan

If you have any thoughts on this poem, Tom Vaughan would be pleased to hear them.