Today I lost my memory stick.
It fell from trousers shamefully torn
Carried over arm to cashpoint.
When I realised, I scoured streets, frantic
like a clucking tramp with cigarettes on the brain
but in triple time, head twitching back
and forth like a ravens, throwing myself
towards bits of litter resembling the USB.
After last Sunday's decisions this is the morning
I don't need. Rationale flashes a yellow 'E'
and I scurry about crab-like, eyes groundward.
I need you to tell me it'll be alright.
I need your measured voice, your gentle ridicule
but you've asked specifically that I don't call.
I give up on the memory stick, quickly grieve
its contents with a sharply sucked roll up.
I am an hour late for my workshop,
I'm committed now to giving up.
Here's my bus, I get on,
time to start again.