So bored,
sat at work,
waiting to work,
time passes slow,
so tired,
tired of waiting,
could be at home,
doing things,
like cleaning the house,
or making something to eat,
drinking something great,
or just being a poet,
but I’m here,
in limbo,
rambling on,
about nothing much,
just keeping in touch,
with the artistic side of me,
I could try harder,
and write something extraordinary,
something gothic or romantic,
but I’m just rambling on,
here at work,
pissed off,
soon I will run,
get in my dirty car,
drive to a supermarket,
buy some milk and wine,
and fruit for my Elisa,
into the labyrinth,
that is the historical centre,
of this degraded town,
got to drive slow,
the roads are bombed,
worn out I mean,
they are looking tired too,
I can see myself relaxing,
after I’ve fed the stray dancing cats,
listening to Elisa talking,
whilst I eat cheese and crackers,
I would be sitting in thought,
thinking of spuds,
placing them in the oven with sausages,
what a fine dinner,
washed down with wine,
I would be still tired,
but more relaxed, warm,
loved, fed, happy,
but I’m still at work,
pissed off,
and rambling on again.

©D.Hobson January 2014