Wednesday, November 25, 2015


The hours dry out
Like used newspaper caps
Worn in the field
At school cricket matches
To keep the cancerous sun
From scorching skin,
While we politely clapped
Captains’ catches.
The days don’t come alive
‘Til after five,
As the phrase ‘close of business’
Slaps slack wrists,
And daylight saving lies
About the time.
Plaintiffs swear,
Thumping tables with clenched fists.
It comes like all torture –
Unexpected –
Bold black type
Staining the in-box column –
Announcing deadlines
No one else will heed.
It puts the defendant off,
Makes him numb.
For now the night’s trickery is thus set;
Only advocates eat, rest, and forget.

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