After Work

 

On the walk home from the train, work falls away.

Like the shedding of a damp kimono on a hot day

moulting to the floor the coarse texture that scratches,

my front door will ease the arduous weight.

I pass sunflowers, great globes heaving sideways

to catch the fence, arching upwards for blessings

from Helios, lithe and strong and posing, a tilt and twist

for more attention from passers-by,

elegant, homely sunflowers seeking the camera I usually point.

Not today, I think, I just need a bath to wash the vessel.

I am an empty vessel, an unfinished pottery jar,

an incomplete masterpiece waiting to be daubed

and stroked with an impasto effect,

though with my luck I will be left lumpy and messy,

with no chance of glazing to luminous transparency,

a warm golden glow.

Best to be a sunflower, petals soft as kitten ears,

sharing smiles and sunshine,

a bumble bee nuzzling my nectar.