10 things I notice on my run

1.    true size of a horse reinforced
      as it philosophises over the gate




2.    full stop mouse stretched
      to a hyphen




3.    butterfly trying to overtake
      me whilst drunk driving




4.    sparrows making hedges sneeze




5.    road-kill squirrel whose stomach
      has become its parachute




6.    (deployed too late)




7.    rabbits improvising jazz
      with their tails




8.    worm making itself into
      a treble clef




9.    derelict pumpkin
                        squatter ants




10.    cobweb spun across the lane –
       silk finishing line

My list of jobs

I’ll tell you when I’ve stuck all these glittery red sequins onto each of my shoes
I’ll tell you when the exhaust fumes have breathed in the last of my lungs
I’ll tell you when I’ve wriggled out from under this grand piano
I’ll tell you when I’ve referenced each of my tea towels using the Harvard system
I’ll tell you when I can say what I need to say in six other languages
I’ll tell you when I’ve found the remote control for tides, pollution, oxygen
I’ll tell you when I am sitting in the waiting room, having to read Woman’s Own
                                      (recipe section and real life stories)
I’ll tell you when the Samaritans hang up on me
I’ll tell you when I’ve ripped the bread with my butter fingers
I’ll tell you when the cobwebs have grown fur coats and are wearing diamond tiaras
I’ll tell you when the odd socks have unionised
I’ll tell you when I’ve soaked all our mistakes in bleach
I’ll tell you when I’ve finished this marking
I’ll tell you when the dust is drifting towards the tornadoes
I’ll tell you when I’m mid-air, suspended, bungee rope slack
I’ll tell you when the wind has learnt my name and texts me every wintry night
I’ll tell you when Chaucer and the pilgrims are all so drunk they can’t rhyme couplets
I’ll tell you when I’ve ground this aspirin with two teaspoons
I’ll tell you when
I’ll tell you when
I’ll tell you when
I’ll tell you when I’ve vacuum packed your tired, kind, hopeful heart

Olga is originally from Northern Ireland. A former Warwick Poet Laureate, she has had poetry and flash fiction published in a range of magazines including Rattle Magazine, Paper Swans Press, Reflex Fiction, Dodging the Rain and Fictive Dream. In 2017 she was commended in the Winchester Poetry Prize and won the Forward/Emag creative-critical competition.