Boil in a bag day
This shouldn't take long.
I've had a day like many other tuesdays, dull as a duck with no conversation. The highlight so far (apart from whinging about it all in print) has been printing up Vic's poetry module for her. They are neat poems. She has more of them than me. Damn.
The purpose of this blog (oh high purpose!) is to type something so my fingers don't rust up while my brain tries to stop its chain from slipping off. Meant to be thinking deeply about poetry. So far, I've remembered how to spell it.
I was in a meeting for an hour today, and wrote a pantoum about having a broken leg. I miss having a broken leg. It was something to write on. (Still got the leg, just not the break, or the plaster.)
A poem (not by me):
Oh, to be a broken leg
In plaster white as chalk
And travel everywhere by crutch
While others have to walk.