Things To Do When You Arrive In Town

My friend and poetry hero Ross Sutherland, many moons ago, wrote a poem called Things To Do Before You Leave Town. This is the other side of the story.

Attempt to unpack everything

You've never used

And never will,

But you'll keep in a box anyway.

Spend four hours on hold

To Virgin Media, wishing you knew

Which bag your hands-free kit was in.

Check the toilet seat.

Read the mail of people

You will only ever know

By their first initial.

Divide local newsagents

Into those you will shop in,

And those you will use for porn.

Find something creepy

Behind the radiator:

A bloodstain, a map of Ancient Persia.

Stare out the window.

Give names to the cats on your avenue.

Walk the streets,

Taking special notice

Of the cracked paving stones,

For late-night celestial navigation.

Note the bookies, the offies,

The places that sell pizza,

The chippies that are open on Mondays.

As dusk falls, look nonchalantly

Into the living-rooms of neighbours.

Do not attempt to ring your mother.

Do not attempt to ring your ex.

Do not attempt to find a prostitute -

You cannot afford one.

You can still prop up a bar

Where somebody's playing guitar,

Get drunk for two hours

In the barman's flat,

On stolen brandy,

Before realising he's a little bit weird.

Come sunrise,

Go, and smoke a joint

At a point

                      That makes no sense at all.