there is something a miss,
annoying you,
under your skin,
infecting you ,
it is the last grain of sand,
in your trainer,
than refuses to leave,
does not want to return,
to the beach,
where it ran away,
it is the last piece of glass,
hidden under the furniture
refusing to be disposed,
like the rest of the jar,
which fell from height,
thanks to a mischievous cat,
which you fear for,
don’t want her paws cut,
by that last piece of glass,
as you bend down to see,
where it went,
a splinter of wood,
inserts into your web,
between thumb and finger,
the most delicate part,
wedged in deep,
so no needle can penetrate,
let it escape,
a dirty piece of wood,
it is like the last streak,
on the window,
that refuses to go away,
using cloth or paper,
wet or dry,
that last glitch,
refuses to go away,
there is always something,
some little niggle,
always some micro piece,
that will go astray.
something so small and nothing,
that will ruin your day.
just a piece sand,
not a rock formation,
leave the little mite there,
don’t let it fed your frustration,
the cat is wise,
it won’t be cut,
and the splinter in your hand?
in will leave you in a few days,
but for gods sake,
that window is a mess,
streaky windows are a thing I really detest!

© D.Hobson March 2014