I am at last learning
contentment –

that is to say,
whatever the content,

it is neither less
nor more than it
should be, and
somewhere in between.

Depending whether
the glass is half full
or half empty,

its contents are
varied and squeezed,
like time,

or spread out wide
to paper over cracks,
like love.

Contentment, most of all,
is a room with you and I
both in it –

you liking yours with space
enough to breath,
me needing mine to be
as close a fit as possible:

in other words,
the welcoming Bar
where our world is
slowly put to rights,

drinks are always half full
and there’s still time left
at the end of the night

for one smiling
pint for the road…