Lab Face Poem by Pam Brown

heavenly shades of night
are falling it's twilight time,
thinking outside the tick box
on the last day of the past,
to ready my selves
for an inurement of toil
I'm sauntering over
to a cheap eats turn
at the food court,
a bit of a do and a bite to eat,
something to help stave off
hollering inertia

everything’s
in the planning stages
but I really should leach the gel
that carries the signal
from node to screen,
add some figures
to this year's calculations,
then add some lines
to the homilies

as follows

Dear toddlers I loved the 80s
(my true thoughts)
drinking ginger beer in Uzbekistan
beside huge black and white photos
of mosque restoration
along a corridor of murals
a corridor of communist heroes

jumping up and down on the spot
in time to a band called Soft Cell,
papering the walls
with posters of pink champagne,
re-registering on the electoral roll,
ah, the heady 80s

but later, tonight,
knowing this is the last century
of which I'll partake,
(my lassitude,
my disbelief, and
mon dieu, my grief)
I'll lie on the laboratory couch
(I'm looking forward to it too)
marvelling
at how my little egg doth pong