Not in the Mood.

Photo by Jonathan Kemper, Unsplash.

I have tripped over a grey unyielding torpor,
stubbing out my mood, like a half-smoked cigarette.
It feels clandestine,
the way it lurked secretly, like a spy,
cleverly unnoticed,
waiting to meet my other self
and knock me out of sorts.

Didn’t I see it this morning?
Was there a hidden pareidolia in my porridge
where the brown sugar
melted and spread?
Perhaps I should have felt something amiss
when I burnt my tongue
on the scalding tea.

Too late now.
So well disguised, artful inveigler,
feigning interest until it caught me off guard,
and threw my enthusiasm into the shed,
along with the lawnmower and secateurs.
The sky turns a deep nearly-night navy
and I just can’t be bothered.

Linking this to Muri’s Poetry Scavenger Hunt, Prompt No 7 ( to either write an Irregular Ode or a poem to include the words ‘spy’ and ‘deep’. I have opted for the latter.


2 thoughts on “Not in the Mood.

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