I lie in a cooling bath on New Year’s Day
thinking about redemption,
unresolved
Outside the streets are empty,
reluctant to make a start:
the sky is gallows grey, and
a half-read novel slumps on the mat
Downstairs scraps of food
wait to be cast out,
but it is too early:
my head is unprepared
The future strolls past,
glances in
and ambles onwards
It is time to wash my thinning hair:
I persuade the last shampoo
into my right hand,
knowing and forgetting
last year’s bottle is now empty
I shrug, and the water ripples:
I take the bottle in my weak left fingers
and throw it across the room
towards the bin:
an impossible shot
It goes in
without
touching
the sides
It is a new year:
there is nothing I cannot do