and witness the madness
of writing the words
Poems don’t have to make sense, right? I like the sound of this – I suppose it’ll have to be enough. I had to get St. Paddy’s Day out of my system early, but it may still make an appearance for TLT tomorrow…
This is the middle of nowhere. Murphy’s Law dictates the camper van break down here. We’re lucky we make it to the most bizarre car park: huge, empty but for a solitary bin, with no apparent reason for the provision of parking. If only we didn’t have more important stuff to worry about.
‘Do you have signal? Cos I don’t.’
‘Nope. We’ll have to stop another car and tell them to send a tow truck our way.’
Sounds good in theory.
But this is the middle of nowhere. We’ll have more than enough time to figure out this car park.
I’d love to be their sister, bread-scented, bag stuffed with baked goods. Unlike the twins, though, I like spending time in the bakery. I help their mother clean after school, when the last of the day’s rolls have gone into the shop. Not that rolls make me smell like them – rolls aren’t real bread.
But it’s okay, I’m used to making do with second best.
I understand what weeks are now and I know I have only been here three. I understand months, too. Do not wait six months.
I miss home.
I have had an answer since day three. Since then, I have verified my findings.
I want to come home.
Few and far between, I have found evidence of the greatness suggested by the pre-infiltration scans. They are capable of it. But they have to set aside their petty squabbles, their mean streaks, their small-mindedness and that, it seems, they will only achieve when they have a common enemy.