big dreams at stake as we fashion the bed that we’ll lie in
thoughts turn to aspirations, to motivation, to what if and whens and the whyfores
of each breath and each crooked step in the right or wrong direction
if we turned back the clock, reinvented the wheel somewhat,
caught hold of the steam engine chugging back along the rails perhaps the task would be simpler;
achievable aims, realistic deadlines and all that
the February heat as oppressive as the decisions ahead

though it’s worth stepping into the flaxen sandals of others whose choice has been curtailed by mismanagement,
by God and the greedy people who pour pig sauce on their trotters


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