Saturday the twelfth of June it’s time for tea but far too soon to crack a Jack and get well drunk. I’ve nowt to do, well who’d have thunk?
I thought i’de drive and grab a brew then split my mealtime into two, I’ll take a bacon sarnie here then later on I’ll take a beer to sort my evening out at home and drink the lot till they’re all gone.
As I sit here the world walks by, the thin, the tall, the shirt the shy. They’ll never stop, they’ll wonder on. I could sit on my pantheon and tell tall tales of stress and woe, or maybe fun. I just don’t know.
This page of texts grown arms and legs. My coffee cup is left with dregs. My stream of consciousness is slowed, the passers by I try to goad for things to muse and help my rhyme. I need to go, I haven’t time.