I Saw Her Through the Staffroom Window

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You wake up another day
To a place you don’t want to
And you take in the sunlight as
It pins you down: “Sleep more!”
To sleep for an hour votes the distant parts of your brain,
But to run through the motions you try wake up; to go.

I saw her through the staffroom window.
“Do you know the The Beatles song?”
You speak to me from the other side of the wall.
“It’s called She Came in through the Bathroom Window
And as you look at me eyes through the call, I say:
“I changed it to Staffroom” and I smile.

It is in your nose. It is there, somewhere
In your nose, somewhere — a kind of button,
A switch; or an invisible itch
Which makes you smile. Somewhere in your nose
Too close to be known how it goes.

And finally, stretching myself like
a Metamorphosed old cat, I get off bed
And fumble for black rubber soles.
Ironic that I have to go, now, speak in
The most erudite spirits of the nation and its holes.

I hear you walk, as I sit at the table
And I hear as you pass even as I don’t see.
I hear you walk, far away from me
And I hear you hearing your footfalls spatter to you
Nuanced stories of mediocrity. I shuffle
Imagined ipod; play Let It Be Me.

Stupidity. Lethargy. Angst-ridden,
Rotten carcass — my body — with a head,
On which I use different slides,
To keep my shoulders company. Frozen insides
Remind me that I’m fast becoming part of the arid scenery.

This is not what I wanted and
This is not what I want.
I’m bargained out and bought
And like a Picasso I hang from dangling thin string.
They see, they don’t understand what they see.
Only know the fake joys faked moments bring.



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