Nicotine stained oak beams in a warm cosy pub...
Unfurling petals, crushed velvet,
Jacket spuds.

Discarded gift wrap and Mum's
Amonia-cool hands;
The lines round the eyes of my smiling old Gran.

The thrill of the crumble of a chocolate Flake.
The rippling blue surface of a cold
Windswept lake.

Like the pink puckered face of a puppy newborn,
Some of my favourite things are wrinkled and
Worn...

So why
Should I do
Any more ironing?