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Hot Ink Supped

Verse

So, since the urging of a hiking buddy, when in James Herriot country last week, slaving over a lemon meringue pie outside the Humble Pie tea shop in Askrigg, I have resolved to pen a verse every week, to drag my writing muscles to the paper kicking and screaming, no matter how dreadful the result.

I changed my shifts in the cubicle job so that I work Sundays, both for the peace and the time to do MacBook admin, and the opportunity for a secret exercise session in the office, free of irritants (colleagues). This would also be a great time to spit out a haiku or a few lines of doggerel. So here goes...

Sip from new purple cup
Hot ink supped for the soul
Squeaking seats, twittering workers
Some shirkers, like me
Café like a feeding station
Simmering pleasure of escape
My coffee, a piece of warmth
A meme across the planet
Draped, a net
Repays a debt to self
Seems to create a safe place
A cocoon, I hide my face
Delays my return to the workplace

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