The third (a poem)

Gave myself a bit more room this evening…

Three days in
three days down
three days gone by

Every hundredweight shuffling down the stairs
thinks some numbers are magic
and some have no business in elevators
or high-rise buildings

I know you can’t really count
on a streak of luck
or the edge of a coin
and what’s left on the plate
on New Year’s Day
will have to be washed
or thrown away
before the real work can begin

(3 January 2019)