After my late night
Sober slumber.
There will be others
Worse off than me.
Shit, wash and dress
In that order.
Head to hospital
For my six weeks
Of daily antibiotics
Direct into my arm
Through a plastic tube
Into my heart.
Metro to read
From the bus
Beats the boredom.
Then it's out into
The early morning sun.
Barely nine o'clock.
Lewisham calling.
Pants and socks
From Primark
Too lazy for a visit
To the laundrette.
Wilko's next.
Assorted crap
To clean my bathroom.
Landlady moaning
Even though her son
Believe it or not
Is the messy one.
A glass of milk.
Not for refreshment
But to line my stomach
To soak up
A multitude of medication.
Then it's out again
Bermondsey bound
Old work stomping ground
Out of my way
To the cobblers.
New heels needed
On my hospital made shoes.
Heels not supplied
By the N.H.S.
Twenty five sovs.
It's not cheap
Being ill.
Fish and chips
Down the Blue
Only a fiver
Bargain!
And even better
My mate's paying.
But they don't do cards
So it's old fashioned me
With traditional cash.
He meant well.
Ice cream from Iceland
'Mum knows best'
Except she's long dead
So she don't.
On to the library
It's emotional
Dulwich Hamlet
All over the internet.
What an invention!
Both the Club
And the contraption.
Bus to Waterloo.
The Poetry Library
My 'secret' oasis.
Toilets downstairs closed
So no furtive wanking.
Am as lonely
As my day.
Another mode of transport
On the tube
Northern Line to Stockwell
Then Brixton
And bus.
More chips
This time with scampi
Or should that be
Scooby snack chips
As Wetherspoons portions
At the Crown and Sceptre
And all of their other
Pro-Brexit boozers.
I voted to leave
But they're cheap.
And I've never pretended
To have fiscal principles
As a poor working class man
In a capitalist society.
Even though
Don't blame me
I voted to stay.
Finally I get a lift
To my endz
As the youth say
With young mates
Grown men
And it's a new experience
Only sexual
In my mind sadly
As they take me
To an ice cream parlour.
A 21st Century twist
On those fondly remembered
Knickerbocker Glory's
In the Wimpy Bar
From the Seventies.
With the lads embarrassingly
Acting like kids
As I would have done
All those decades ago.
It's been all in all
Just another day off work
Like every other Tuesday.
Except tonight
As I got to sleep
And finally rested
My infected foot
I am starting to realise that
At least until next April
We ARE National League South.
Dulwich Poet 8th May 2018
(Basically what I did yesterday!)
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