Poem About Morning
by William Meredith
Whether it's sunny or not, it's sure
To be enormously complex-
Trees or streets outdoors, indoors whoever you share,
And yourself, thirsty, hungry, washing,
An attitude towards sex.
No wonder half of you wants to stay
With your head dark and wishing
Rather than take it all on again:
Weren't you duped yesterday?
Things are not orderly here, no matter what they say.
But the clock goes off, if you have a dog
It wags, if you get up now you'll be less
Late. Life is some kind of loathsome hag
Who is forever threatening to turn beautiful.
Now she gives you a quick toothpaste kiss
And puts a glass of cold cranberry juice,
Like a big fake garnet, in your hand.
Cranberry juice! You're lucky, on the whole,
But there is a great deal about it you don't understand.
"No, I do not feel better… I have the sense that everything is going more to pieces by the day. Getting up this morning I looked at my watch, and in the little square that shows the date, I seemed to see a tiny prison widow with its two bars: the eleventh of the month… And my nights are seldom better: the feeling that there's a big tree-trunk lying across my chest, whose weight finally waked me. After which, more or less pleased with the accuracy of the image, I got go sleep again, somewhat calmer …".
"Sometimes at the end of the afternoon, when work lets up a bit, I look at the office walls around me, then the last of the hills, steadily nibbled away by their ashen contours. And it goes on, goes on, like an agony… It's usually at that moment I tell myself I've surely been on the wrong track all these years. And that it's not impossible, it is in fact a certainty, that I shall follow this road, the wrong one, to the very end. Then I wait a while longer, the time it takes to gather my things, bid good evening to my neighbour if he has not already left, and go home as if nothing were wrong, […]"
Into The Deep Street
Guess what? The worldwide arrival of the basic income is imminent.