I have half an hour
to waste
and I need to piss.

I stand alone at the urinal
expecting
the door to swing open

- it doesn’t.

I have twenty-five minutes
to waste

and I’m in the supermarket 
café. 

I sit and watch people
sat in rags
and tatty narratives.

I watch 
small buckets of caffeine
being sipped

and headless mirth
rising
into clouds of noise.

I have twenty minutes
to waste.

I choose a cake,
‘the moist one in the corner.’
I pay.  

I collapse onto her cheap bed 
of white ceramic. 

I take all of her
every last crumb.

She is spent.
I am ruined.

And I have another ten minutes
to waste.

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