I used to write from inspiration,
sitting on a bench near Temple station,
watching a woman; no relation,
swallowing hard to avoid frustration.
I had real time for contemplation,
spilling into my citation,
I'd return without hesitation,
but I'm the last of that generation:
'Cos the kids on fast food are going berserk.
And I don't want to go to work.
You'll never find an explanation,
through a process of elimination,
does it warrant a police investigation?
seven hours, thirty six subjugation?
alienation in an alien nation,
skin infecting irritation,
is it me? or is it degradation?
it reeks of pure capitulation:
And the kids on the bus are going berserk.
I don't want to go to work.
Capability Red , February 2011
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