On my mind
I am going to tell you what I have been about.
No need to brace yourself, it is mundane stuff, but,
Deserving, I think, of record:
I wonder, I thought, ( and here, this being a low-budget poem, I advise insertion of your own quotation marks)
I wonder if I might garden in my pyjamas?
It's Warm, and Humid, and I considered it
OK, weather-wise, at least.
Besides, I reasoned, why bother to change? The hedges are high and the neighbours about their business.
From pyjamas I came, and to pyjamas I will return, so,
It's just a matter of cutting out the trousery-bit
So I gardened in my pyjamas.
I hoed the herbs with careful attention to detail.
With new hoe.
(£15.95 from Spear and Jackson, good for another nine years, eleven months, and twenty-four days ..)
Coming close to a blooming foxglove, I turned up it's trumpets
And marvelled at the multitude of ants also
About their business.
The cranesbill leaves I noticed, not sure that I approved, are laced with bug work.
And so on.
There's something a little sixty-sixish about gardening in pyjamas.
I think, when I was younger, I would have looked upon it as a worrying sign.
Now I know, and I am laughing, it's no such thing.
When the hedges are high, and the neighbours about their business, you can do
What you bloody well like and really, REALLY not
Give a damn.