A Mockery
Title: A Mockery
What: original poetry
Rating: G
Words: 169
Summary: Insanity born of mock exams. Dated 2007; no doubt written during mocks season.
Sample: I think I'm going crazy: I just talked to a pigeon.
Hanging around the station,
waiting for you
looking pathetically lonely.
I think I'm going crazy: I just talked to
a pigeon.
“So what train did you just get off?”
It didn’t answer.
Kind of gutting, as that was the first thing
out of my mouth since
three hours ago
(“what’s your cipher, Ms?”).
It’s the silence that gets me.
I can handle the essays (more likely
make one up on the spot because
it’s only mock exams so I didn’t study),
the pain flexing from fingertip to elbow,
my stomach reminding me I haven’t eaten
in three hours.
I need noise!
So I make it.
I write loudly, blow my nose (I really am sick),
take (unnecessary) puffs of the old inhaler
(having asthma is so hard),
and half the year group wants to
kill me.
I survived the essays and their wrath.
But in any case, I could always just
plead ‘not guilty’ due to insanity:
I think the pigeon just talked back.
“Porirua express. About time, too.”
What: original poetry
Rating: G
Words: 169
Summary: Insanity born of mock exams. Dated 2007; no doubt written during mocks season.
Sample: I think I'm going crazy: I just talked to a pigeon.
Hanging around the station,
waiting for you
looking pathetically lonely.
I think I'm going crazy: I just talked to
a pigeon.
“So what train did you just get off?”
It didn’t answer.
Kind of gutting, as that was the first thing
out of my mouth since
three hours ago
(“what’s your cipher, Ms?”).
It’s the silence that gets me.
I can handle the essays (more likely
make one up on the spot because
it’s only mock exams so I didn’t study),
the pain flexing from fingertip to elbow,
my stomach reminding me I haven’t eaten
in three hours.
I need noise!
So I make it.
I write loudly, blow my nose (I really am sick),
take (unnecessary) puffs of the old inhaler
(having asthma is so hard),
and half the year group wants to
kill me.
I survived the essays and their wrath.
But in any case, I could always just
plead ‘not guilty’ due to insanity:
I think the pigeon just talked back.
“Porirua express. About time, too.”