Notebooks

A new notebook
full of clean and crisp white pages
sits on the top shelf in my office
and waits patiently

Meanwhile
my old notebook is open
on the white duvet that covers my lap,
as time slows,
and the mist on the fields
slowly evaporates
and cars pass,
making an early start to the week.

And as I sip my coffee
the last few empty pages
of my old notebook
also wait patiently
for a new poem,
the fragment of a memory,
a crossword clue, perhaps
a doodle of children
with uncertain hands
or your name
in block capitals
cross-hatched
and filled with inky hearts