Wednesday, 13 June 2007

The Cutting Room, Number 2, 1992


A machine, in spate
Floods the room
With noise.

In the semi-detached darkness
Ghostly figures prolong
The agony of work.

Upstairs, in the office
A total lack of emotion
Sparks a 999 call
To the Fire Brigade
And a quick response.


A flock of frost
Grazes the front lawn.

Yesterdat afternoon
I serviced the lawnmover:
Served it right.

I'll send the bill
For my labour
To the Met Office
This time, I guess.

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