Liaworld

The first day, you wonder what
They're going to do with you, stop to
Fix, as if you were a
Travel alarm clock, flashing stats
For the maverick masses,
So debonair in the springtime, and
Never less enthusiastic - it
Keeps them on edge. Chilled
Apricots haunt my windowsill,
Remains of adoring companions
That have yet to be fed to me.
There's the glint of sunlight
At the end of the room,
The air conditioning all
Through the night. That smell,
The indomitable black coffee look
Of it normally. Sucking the air
Out of cross country competitors -
That I'm relegated to the apartment.
Dead certs of a weekly circuit,
Wonders peel paint off a local windmill,
Blind maths rats search skirting
For a clue.