I haven’t read the news today,
but it knows how to chassé into my life.
Laid out in Budgens
4th Briton beheaded
splashed from the Saturday cover pages
into my eyes.
Over lunch cooking
on the radio the weekly round-up
where the chatter chewed
over NHS woes, the nurse’s strike.
Before I could log on to my mail,
a banner scans past offering
man at war, Ebola,
grotesque foods of the world
and a celebrity wedding.
I didn’t read the news today,
but I did entertain
an interview with David Gandy
who only gyms five hours a week.
The starting point for this poem was derived from a prompt suggested by A Poem A Day October.