(I honestly and truly didn’t write this when I should have been working.)


Up before light in a quiet house;
I’ve cold feet and a sore head,
radio noise is in my blood.

The metal spoon cuts my hand
stirring soft cake mix to life,
music wakes my day.

I remember school cookery,
the useless instruction to share
a wooden spoon between three.

We made pizza from scone dough,
but now I shop to eat;
pizza comes in boxes.

Education told us nothing of tomorrow;
we did silent working, routine, rules
while acid rain etched windows.

They taught underskirts made with lace;
I’d have preferred woodwork,
and now wear jeans all week.

I didn’t know how to cook then;
this savage desire to protect my tribe.
I bake for love.

But a dose of Paranoid Android today,
sits me back on the school floor,
listening to Beethoven.

Legs crossed in a dusty hall,
fingers tracing patterns on the wood;
knowing nothing but the moment.

Music, love and escape;
we always knew the constants
could not be learned.

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