Homely holiday

Dawn and
it is going to be
a busy time,
for my money
                I should be counting.

Day by tenners and twenties
(roaring with laughter,
utterly spent by nights past,
dancing drugged by drink
and false care for currency).

And then,
more aged, false they lie,
these of the fifties,
but still they count.

One almost forgotten, of a hundred,
wisely silent, she knows her value.

Finally the job is done,
                though none too soon
                and worthwhile the effort
neatly bundled.

Now lies ahead
                a long, long holiday

at home on the couch,
where I shall be drinking
                my own tea.

In the quiet dusk a thrush
                staking its future melodiously…