Poem: The Same Plughole After All
I write in the mornings now. It’s cold. Crisp enough to blow smoke. No coffee-fuelled, wine-toasted late night thoughts.
Just a few lines before work. Load the dishwasher, make breakfast for the family, quick shower – and off!
Sometimes I leave a wee poem to trickle and maybe glisten. But it’s all just for the same plughole after all.
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