Not to be

The big project, 

has come to naught.

It was a house.

Long awaited and much wanted,

but

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

wholly unjustly,

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.