Newt in the Kitchen

Husband, Jobs, Poetry, Relatives
Newt on its bus
A newt in the kitchen
A motionless guest
Discovered at midnight
In peace and at rest
Tucked under a step
In the just-painted room
Perhaps overcome 
By a poisonous fume
It didn’t respond 
To a nudge or a chat
So we went off to bed 
Thinking that would be that

Mid-morning we looked
In the teabag-time light
The walls were all smooth
And the colour was right
And there wasn’t a newt
At the funeral scene
It was far far away
By the washing machine
Its head lifted up
On its delicate feet
It might have been saying
What is there to eat

A newt in the kitchen
I said to my phone
You know with such queries
You're never alone
AI says in winter
They’re slow so it's fine
Like you they are rarely
Alert before nine
Don't slosh it with water
Don't coat it in socks
Invite it inside a small
Open-topped box
Its bus to the world
Take it slowly don't cough
And let it decide
If it wants to get off
Or stay home with you
Could it work it depends
If this is a newt
With relations and friends
Or a solitary type
Who would fit in your life
That threesome the newt
And the husband and wife

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