It's Morning

and my wife gets up early for work.

She kisses me, shuts the door

and the cat comes and meows.

I reach down and stroke her.

Acknowledging this, she gets back

into her box and curls up.

We stay like this – me in bed,

Bluebell asleep in her box.

Just me and her.

And I can’t say I know

what happiness is,

but maybe this comes close.

Joshua Seigal

A Poem About Nothing

This is a piece about nothing at all. 

It’s not about llamas or people called Paul. 

It’s not about flotsam, or fishsticks, or owls;

it’s not about liquorice, lobsters or towels.

This poem, I tell you, is merely a void. 

To search for a meaning would make you annoyed. 

It’s not about clowns doing backflips in Chad;

it’s not about monsters who look like your dad.

It’s not about jelly, or bottoms, or squid,

or broccoli, banjos, Macau or Madrid.

It’s not about pineapples pinned to a wall – 

See, this is a piece about nothing at all.

Joshua Seigal