Spreadsheet
A schedule; split times and sleep
Times and places to eat,
to look after my feet,
afford myself a treat...
It was neat
First on the screen, then in my head
Composed with a brew,
a biscuit or two
and perfectly functioning feet
It was wrong
Of course it was wrong, I knew all along
Minutes wide at Torside,
hours late at Thwaite,
and Yetholm was anyone's guess
It was clean
Said nothing of the mess, the profound tiredness
Staring into a dropbag
Snoozing in some toilets
and mumbling to a man who wasn’t there
It was hope
Fantasises in cells and rows, hardly unicorns and rainbows
Just a will to give ones best
That the bogs aren't out for flesh
and the reality is as Spine tingling as the dreams
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