A poem by Amanda Riddick.
That late afternoon Sunday feeling
there was something you were going to do
but you never got round to it
you can’t remember what it was,
you didn’t write it down,
it’s not on the to-do list that hangs over your desk
was it the last day of that must-see exhibition?
did you mean to read that long article in yesterday’s paper?
weren’t you going to try making bittersweet marmalade now that it’s the season for Seville oranges?
it doesn’t matter how you rush to catch up between now and Monday morning,
whether you go for a walk or do all your washing, you will feel guilty, just ever so slightly,
like you used to all those years ago when you hadn’t finished your geography homework or practised the piano or watered the geraniums
nothing really important, but still