Tuned in to the still-dark day
And the haunting voice of Elvis
Ghosting down the corridor
Love me tender
The quieter atmosphere
Of a Saturday
And sickness almost takes
The day off being less
Urgent somehow
Voices on the corridor
Are a louder echo
Voices of women
In other rooms fantasizing
About handsome strange men
And roasted onions
Voices of men
Say nothing about women
Sticking to the safety
Of sport
Thank God
I’m on my own
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