The big project,
has come to naught.
It was a house.
Long awaited and much wanted,
not to be.
So I did what you do in the face of disappointment.
You bake a cake
and you reflect on the unintended bathos of its ingredients -
the grated beetroot that stains your hands blood red,
the seeds, sunflower and pumpkin,
which will never germinate,
the sour taste of lemon juice,
the costly nut oil,
the light molasses sugar of sweet anticipation,
the broken eggs which will never hatch
the opiate effect of black poppy seeds
to help to erase the memory,
the icing tears,
then you ask for clemency
for this melodramatic post
and ask them to bear in mind
that you have also just received a parking ticket
because of a faulty ticket machine,
whilst attempting to indulge in a little
restorative retail therapy
and one of your jars of apple sauce
exploded in the pantry.