i
stretchily leant on the armrest
this morning, over
snarling a sneeze back into its
nasal pouch to let erupt all over
the pillow
in an outside morning stew
billowing the hilltops.

elsewhere on the morrow
there was a heavy fog over
berrylands. when i passed,
ghostly trees wheezed through
with ugly gusts of silhouette
noose vine; ignoring
icily the hanging man
twitch of mine, in these
leggy polyester spasms
from cold or
maybe nervousness.

it smelt in the carriage as
though my first day at school
puking in the sink
because
i can’t tie my shoelaces, sir,
and, oh, i’ll never ever learn.

so i have velcro straps instead
where the noose vine would
once
hiss and bore sinuously
its plastic-tooth-tips
through
lubber fumble fingers and
holes of leathery doubt
tripping me all over and out
in the gravelly schoolyard mud pit
where swatches were smashed
and my ears burned.

it was good, then, when i
-strapped to the nines-
squelched through the mire to
line up tall with the bell and
the boys.
we scoffed our apples loud
all the way to assembly
where a bigger lad ate his boogers.
i rubbed my muddy fuzz bits together
and learnt this 'to be proud'.