3.30am, it is, in my flat
(and the surrounding area, clearly, but that
goes without saying. The aim, really, is to
get to the point. Which I shortly will do)
It’s 3.30 now and my mind is awake.
I do wish that it wasn’t, but – for fuck’s sake-
It’s been at work thinking and now that I’m home
it won’t give it up. So here I am. With poem.
It’s funny, I worry, now that I’m here,
that ‘doggerel’ isn’t a – (brb beer) –
(b) recognised form of artistic expression
haiku is much better. Or I get that impression
anyway. So why – you ask – am I home so late?
It’s my turn, it just is, it’s… (making you wait…)
tonight was my turn to check yesterday’s news
Was uploaded correctly so all the page views
result in no complaints,
no mis-spells
no typo reports
No broken link-text, and no boo-boos in Sports
or in Film or in Books, G2, Media, Money
It may sound quite dull, but it isn’t to me.
For a start, nightshift means that I’m off in the day
I can sleep, and do laundry, so all is… no, hey,
hang on, there’s that letter from the Student loans
company, the vile bastards (yeah, everyone moans
but few have ignored them quite as long as me.
I’m in trouble. Still, maybe they’ll just set me free
of the debt, cos I’m lovely) Right. Anyway, I
Made a promise to be – or to definitely try
to be – in bed by four. So I should now get on
and perhaps have a cigarette. I would quite like one
And I know that this ‘poetry’ may not quite count
But I don’t care. I liked it and
[Insert something that rhymes. I’ve gone to bed.]