The Longest Day
There are deadlines to complete today.
Not least getting myself washed and dressed,
bothering with my hair
when I want to drown in sleep
and not get through this day
in any other way.
Food tastes blah, I force myself to eat
each cardboard tasting morsel,
each waste of carbohydrate.
A tea-break ticks off another hour
nearer an appointment I’d rather miss;
wanting to know but not to hear
knowing I won’t take it in
A phone call where someone’s urgent task
postpones internal provocation.
I concentrate haphazardly on what seems
inconsequential with my preoccupations.
My watch, the timer on my PC, the date
on my cosy, cartoon calendar
Dark doodles litter my notebook,
the strange shapes probably mean something
count-down numbers: three, two, one,
But zero is not here yet,
there are meetings to attend
and pretend attention is paid when all
I feel is what a total, pitiless, nonsense
it is being here on this day,
when somewhere else results are resting,
unperturbed, in a tray.
Sue Spiers has a raunchy poem in the
Bloodaxe anthology Hallelujah for
50ft Women and one in The Swan
Press’s GB anthology. Her work has
appeared in Under the Radar, The
Interpreter’s House and South
among other magazines and she is a
member of the Tea Poets at Romsey
and Tongues & Grooves – the
Portsmouth stanza group of the