Another load of torn-up scribbled scraps.
She’s got the plastics muddled up again.
Can’t read the labels? Doesn’t care, perhaps?
Too dim to sort out film and cellophane?
More glass this week and plonk not premier cru.
Research for some lost work — say, Aristotle’s?
Un-rinsed they hold their stink of vinegar-brew.
(I’ve really had it up to here with bottles.)
The Guardian; bless! she’s solved five crossword clues!
All anagrams, but better than last week.
She’s slipped up on sudoku, though. (The booze?).
I always check although I shouldn’t sneak.
The packaging from Amazon? — buried deep.
Her online-shopping habit’s out of hand; she knows,
but not the twitchy neighbours. In her sleep
I’m sure she thinks all’s fragrant as a rose.
