I was sick of the shape of the lounge.
The windows ignored and the mess all around.
So we made a plan to move some shelves.
Well, one in particular, we could do it ourselves.
That big one, the oak one, the one full of books.
It'd been ages since we sorted them, I was on tenterhooks
For all the treasure we might find.
So we set aside some time.
Sunday morning, up at dawn.
Sort and shift, then mow the lawn.
The deal was made, alarms were set.
Boxes and bags were ready prepped.
My excitement at the prospect sowed tragedy's seed,
As whirring thoughts robbed me of the sleep that I'd need.
And I heard the street life come and go,
Then witnessed the gamma light tangerine glow
Of the unwelcome sunrise that cruelly seeped
in through the window, and sent me to sleep.
At twenty to twelve my phone shrilly rang
Thrown into a panic, awake with a bang,
I fell out of bed and onto a shoe
(Which explains at least one of the mystery bruises)
Staggered to stand and opened the door,
Aghast at the time lost and vaguely sore.
Shouting “Good morning!” to Gio (still in bed)
while the homicidal feline winds his way through my legs
and I try to get down the stairs.
Just there, through the 8 ft windowpane
Are Esmeralda and Jonathan, they're back again
For the summer. They're our resident herring gulls.
The cat is enraged, awkward placed and my lulls
did not seem to be having the desired effect.
He was ready to kill me, his tail erect
And bristled to easily three times the width
of his normally slinky marinko tail-whip.
I stepped. He swiped then yowled down the stairs
and I followed, bleary haste tripping and scared.
There was so much to do! Cup of tea!
Teeth and shoes!
We hadn't a singular moment to lose.
Gio emerged, in the same state as me.
“We were going to move the bookshelves, weren't we?”
