CERTAINTIES

She is a certainty stomping around the only segment

of a football pitch not made mysterious by mist.

A rocking dog dangles below the yo-yo hand extended

until parallel with the playing surface and its molehills.

I finish pulling back the curtains, put a pair of Sony cans

over my ears, plug in the jack, tap the icon for Jazz FM,

soon broadcasting from my trouser pocket. The day

and date are not yet considerations, but both hands are

free to breakfast me, and dogs have never been my bag.