Sign in the staffroom at work.
Stay positive they said,
Stay positive I read,
Stay positive in the work you despise,
Turn a blind eye as your life goes by,
Leave your thoughts at the door,
Don’t think they implore,
Pretend there is no sun,
Look out of the window at your life on hiatus for eight hours,
Can’t get rid of the smell of this jail even after a thousand showers,
Take solace it’s for the money that I didn’t even want to use,
The books you could be reading now will only get you confused,
The songs you could be listening to now won’t speak to you anyway,
Silence your mental jukebox and toil for your pay.
Stay positive today,
The cash they flash,
I can see on my face a fiscal rash,

They can say put down your pens,
Strip your pencils of lead,
Tell creativity to slumber,
Put your canvas to bed,
But can’t stop us drawing in our heads,
Stay positive,
Like don’t start on that waitress and treat her with chagrin,
Cos she doesn’t bound over with your pie and chips with a leap and a grin,
“We’ve paid for this food, she better start smiling,”
Or the tip it is non and the polite police I’m dialing “
Have a word with yourself shes working,
And more than that she could be hurting,
Cos John in the kitchen isn’t flirting,
Or she could be wearing that frown,
Cos shes realised she only got £30.00 for her night out in town,
That’s not much when you consider the taxi back,
Plus after shes done serving you shes got dishes to attack,
But no she has a grimace,
Shes finished,
We have all felt like that, bit lonely and that,
Stay positive.
Stay positive,
Cos sometimes words cling to the air,
Like candyfloss to hair,
And birds sing for their bread while the cat bosses just stare,
At the endless charade of hierarchy,
John then Paul then George then Starky,
But star key unlocks the door to the skies,
Hope is life, I summarise,
There’s beauty in your summer eyes,
Don’t count the calories in pies,
Dietary information often lies,
Distracting from the truth with garish rides,
That only seek to compromise,
Our promise and delightful ties,
Forged from friendship not to buy,
Feel your waist and touch your thigh,
Dietary information often lies,
Love is all,
No chance to take,
No dast to cie,
Be brilliant and hear them sigh,
Stay positive.
I feel like,
Tintin going exploring,
Paths opening up, new days dawning,
I’m done with yawning it’s a waste of breath,
I don’t feel lethargic, I don’t feel bereft,
Heads down dive me a test,
About anything cos this beat in my chest,
Means I’ll beat Kasparov at chess,
Armani couldn’t make a sexier dress,
Allivate stress quicker than Prozac,
Cut the beanstalk down faster than Jack,
I can stretch my mind more than that guy on the rack,
Cos I think if our lips locked together we could throw away the lucky heather,
No more boring days of monotony,
Fingers crossed watching the national lottery,
Not just waiting around thinking I’ll chill,
But striving for the horizon over the hill,
Stay positive.
But the best thing I saw recently,
Was when I’d just finished my tea,
And I saw these two old folk who live near me,
One about 89 the other 93,
Twilight of their lives to say the least,
Real hunched and stooped over, all false teeth,
But the way they held each other’s hands the tenderness was palpable,
Cradled and soft the care undoubtable,
Cos some things are not withered by age,
They stick through this life to every page,
Decrepit vocal cords that would have a job to sing,
But there demeanor hit the high notes bellowing loves the greatest thing,
And whatever they think the next life is, earth, air or above,
At least the opening gambit can be, “we ended that one with love”
And everybody wants that, everybody,
Everybody with this life to live,
Peace be with you and bless you
And stay positive!

I'm going back to reality today.
To overbearingly bright office lights, to fake smiles and staffroom pleasantries, to the humdrum , the normal, the drab and the dull.
I'm being rudely awoken, dragged unwilling from this warm comforting dream; from your arms, your lips, your clever words and quick wit.
Worlds away from where I can be myself,
And that's all you'll ever want me to be.

Young teacher, the subject
Of school a girl fantasy
She wants him so badly
Knows what she wants to be
Inside her there's longing
This girl's an open page
Book marking - she's so close now
This girl is half his age

Her friends are so jealous
You know how bad girls get
Sometimes it's not so easy
To be the teacher's pet
Temptation, frustration
So bad it makes him cry
Wet bus stop, she's waiting
His car is warm and dry

Loose talk in the classroom
To hurt they try and try
Strong words in the staffroom
The accusations fly
It's no use, he sees her
He starts to shake and cough
Just like the old man in
That book by Nabokov

It's snowing,
Yiska says.

She's looking out
the window
of the locked ward.

I stand
just behind her,
peering over
her shoulder,
watching the large
flakes fall
in a steady flow.

Trees opposite
are becoming covered;
they look like brides
about to get married.

The fields beyond
are white, not green.

Picturesque from in here,
I say.

She runs a finger
down the pane,
a slim finger,
white/pink skin,
the nail chewed.

What was it like
on the day
you were to marry?
I ask.

Bright, sunny,
almost cloudless.

Bet you were glad
it didn't snow.

She looks back at me.

I wouldn't have cared less
if he had turned up
and not left me there
dressed up
like a doll abandoned.

I guess not,
sorry to
have reminded you.

She sighs,
looks back
at the snow.

Not your fault
he didn't show.

I shouldn't have
reminded you.

It's always there,
anyway,
like some dark
black nightmare.

We watch
the falling snow
in a few moments
of silence.

I can smell soap
about her,
maybe shampoo;
it invades my nose.

I close my eyes.

Sense her
just before me,
as if my senses
had fingers,
but not my fingers,
but invisible fingers
reaching out to her.

Don't think
I can trust
another man
to get me
down the aisle.

I open my eyes,
see her hair,
long,
unbrushed.

I would not
have jilted you.

It wasn't you
I was going to marry.

No, I guess not.

The snow falls harder;
I can hardly see
the trees now.

She looks back at me.

Want a cigarette?
she asks.

I nod.

She takes a packet
out of her
dressing gown pocket
and takes one
for herself
and gives one
to me.

She lights them
with a yellow
plastic lighter.

How'd you managed
to keep the lighter;
thought they took  
such things away
in case you try
and set yourself alight?

I liberated it
out of the staffroom
the other night.

We stand and smoke
and watch
the heavy fall
of snow.

Behind us,
others enter the room,
their voices talking
of the snow,
how heavy it is.

We can sense
their coming near us
like invading armies
on virgins lands,
unaware
we're holding hands.

Everyday I hear neighbours' kid crying,
teachers laughing in the staffroom,
nurses & doctors whispering behind closed doors,
men at bars covered in puke,
tired gas station attendants,
sunken faces of those who leave in the blink of an eye
and a colour which I don't remeber well,
staring back at me in the mirror.
I hear neighbours' kid crying,
again.
But I don't get it.
Again.