Things I can see right now

Tomato ketchup at an angle,
a shaft of upward morning light in its neck.
The tablecloth, red stripes on white, creased by life and sundry.
The FT Weekend at an angle, the headlines tiptoeing towards me.
A Christmas card with a Make Your Own 3D Robin pull out.
The word “sockdolager” in a poem by John Ashbery,
and now the etymology of the word “sockdolager”
on an tab open on my screen, its close relationship
with “doxology”, also in the poem.
A tall lantern and the shadow of a tall lantern.
The way the light falls on the Baptist Chapel outside.
The halcyon sky out the window, three cheers hip hip.
My boyfriend waving at me from the settee.
Memories of yesterday like things in this room:
a vicar on another settee, the heart beating into breath,
dancing all night till the sweat stung my eyes,
a text in the taxi on my way home: “My father is dying,
and Victoria has had her baby.”

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.