Yesterday

Yesterday gurgled down the drain in a vortex of everything except poetry. At work for eight o'clock and there until nine o'clock at night, working, fortifying myself for more work by eating a meal and drinking coffee--but in such numerous company I couldn't read the "Children of Albion" volume I'd taken along--then back to more work labouring on clock-watching until my inevitable escape, with the skies beginning to darken as day fell into night. I stopped the cab home on the outskirts of Wilby so I could stand for a while and look out across the open fields, breathe in all that freedom--the common sense of untrammeled nature.Ah! But once home I was too tired to do anything except switch on the tv and fall asleep on the sofa with some dull mainstream movie playing quietly behind me. A lived day. An entirely wasted day. How attractive that cabin in the woods is looking.