HIJACKED TABLE BABY:

A woman in a raincoat with a handbag reads the local rag
at ‘my table’. Yesterday it was a suit with a lap top
full of facts so of heavy he needed it more than me. Yesterday
morning all my facts were light – fair swap. John Martyn plays
Solid Air for my porridge, tea & poetry. Pulling the tea bag out
with bare fingers ’till the hot water burns I know I’m still
alive. Having nightmares every night, waking with gas clouds of
disconnected stuff bouncing round my head, but I’m sober, walking
straight, no desire to deviate. It’ll be ok – right?
If this is as bad as it gets I’m quids in. Pass the porridge

(K)