Right Now





I could write a poem right now,

I could be doing anything in the world,

I could be sky-diving,

Or hand gliding,

Or writing a pamphlet on the 101 ways 

I could stop myself from getting bored out of my brains,

While waiting on the telephone,

Waiting to be chucked a bone

And leave a message after the tone.


Time's sticking in the knife

And wishing away my life,

Stabbing me in the eyes,

I'm trying to keep them open and wide,

With matchsticks, like in the cartoons,

But all I have are teaspoons,

And sachets of sugar.


Life's a never-ending time bomb,

Permanently waiting to go off

And stop the monotonous blot

Until it's too late and then:



And that's your lot.


I could write a poem right now,

Maybe I will,

But I'm no Shakespeare,

My Biro's no quill,

It doesn't seem to have the same effect

And one small defect,

The phone keeps interrupting -


I could write a poem right now,

Maybe I will,

But first I must take this call...


"Good afternoon, how can I help you?"


"Err... I'd like to speak to Someone please."


 "I'm sorry, Someone's not available right now."

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