I want jam.
But humus has taken over the fridge.
Serried ranks of beige in round plastic tubs,
block any carefully considered moves
to find the opened jam jar.
But who needs raspberry anyway?
Ankle socks, short sleeves,
sunlit cotton shirts giggle on a line.
The jar of sweet, dense,
dark-flavoured blackcurrant...it's time.
There it is. On the cupboard shelf.
Bought two weeks and three days ago.
Confidently biding its time.
Blackcurrant has the winter night about it.
Cloaked in deep purple blackish velvet,
fresh from a rush ride
through a white-out blizzard,
weathered thick leather reins
grasped tightly in gauntlets.
A more serious companion to buttered toast
than light, pippy raspberry.
This morning, blackcurrant jam,