Day three and the rain competes with
boredom more adequately than one is
supposed to imagine; it’s there and no
denying it – like a headache or a sore
throat, just enough to be on the edge
of awareness like a half-awake dream
so to coin a phrase you ‘cop it sweet’
although you’re quietly raging
It’ll go away they say gratuitously, as
if that makes a modicum of sense and
you wait like a good kid should, a few
options are left but they’re about the
same as doing nothing so you stew in
inertia of trying to be patient
© 28 January 2013, I. D. Carswell
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