The only viable solution now
Would be to smash the house to pieces
In an impotent rage.
Eight weeks to go.
Seven if I leave early.
I'll leave early.
Now I must break up the time,
Give myself the impression
That I have things to look forward to.
Tomorrow, I'll go into town
And read in Borders
And perhaps steal a book.
On Thursday, I shall go to town again,
And drink beer at 80p a bottle
And meet disappointment on the landing.
I should go for a run,
Weave the old familiar path,
Down the street where nothing ever happens
And it's always equilibrium, through the ginnels,
Across the expanse of the school field - my old school -
Not yet sold for land for houses, sweep away,
In a curve, dart into the landscape,
Holding factories and warehouses
Amongst the trees,
Crowned by the A1/M1 link road.
I'm learning not to give a fuck about
And then I'll carefully select -
One by one -
The things I would like
To give a fuck about.