Such a good word, ‘supine’. I 

Thought about that, sighing, as I 

Felt the bones uncrack, the muscles

Unscream, the nerves unjangle, 

Stretched out my crumpled spine,

Happy to finally uncurve my back. Of

Course, that is when the kitchen chose

To attack. First I heard the mixie whirr – 

The younger was there pottering and I

Seriously thought it had helicoptered away

With her. I ignored it. The demand on my

Supined Self was high, and I couldn’t afford it.

Then came the shrieks and squawks, the splash

The spill. I mean, forget explosive, we’re talking

Chernobyl. 

Long story short, it was everywhere. Banana mango

Ooze on counter, cabinet, oven and chair, gloop

Underfoot and glops in the hair, and the wailing

At the loss of labour and shake too much to bear.

The family wonders now why the kitchen is shining.

I wonder what happened to my plans of supining.