"From The Porch"

Not that I want to go to prison
But I feel I'm doing a 'dummy run'
Stuck in my own little cell
What have I gone & done?
I'm stranded in my front porch
Two paces by seven
Even though I can't get to work
This ain't my skiving heaven.
Gone and shut my flat door
Keys not in my pocket
Now I can't get out the front one
'Cos we always lock it.
The 'we' being upstairs
Don't know if they're in or out
Looks like I'm stuck on my Jacks for the day
Nobody at all about.
I'm already uncomfortable
Sat for an hour on the floor
Teased by the frosted civilisation
Through the teasing glass door.
Leaning against the radiator
Feeling like a Sydenham Terry Waite
Getting 'distracted' by this poetry
To stop me getting in a state.
Can't even have a wank to kill time
In case a fumble's seen through the glass
Then I really would go to prison
Nonces after my arse!
But where I am at the moment
That's not my most pressing worry
What the fuck am I going to do
If I need a shit in a hurry?
Can you imagine what upstairs will think
If they walk through the door
Me curled up in the corner
And a smelly dump on the floor?
No idea how long I'll be stuck here
Hopefully not too many hours to go
And at least I've got another poem
Out of this tale of woe.

Dulwich Poet 13th August 2015

(I was ready to leave home this morning at eight o'clock. But my inner door for my flat shut behind me, & I realised I never had my keys. The front door was double locked, so I was stuck! My landlord couldn't help until the evening, luckily the upstairs flat surfaced at about half past twelve & I was 'free'!)