werk

i werk in the next town over, up the gorge, where everyone drives slow, and walks slow, and i am the impatient profane person from the city with pop music blasting from her car.

when i soar over the lip of the gorge in my musical vehicle, i can get life fm, and the huge flocks of gulls from the west coast dawdle in the sky over the streets.

can i sue her please for moral abuse, she hates on the revellious folly of my personal life and i have to work there.

the kids carry music around with them, they play all  my favourite pop songs, which makes it the best place to work, cos the best part of my day is driving to and from work listening to the radio. 

i stayed an hour afterwards today, as i had been writing poetry about dead tadpoles instead and lost track of time.