We have been here before;
we who slouch
at formica tables
and fish adeptly in sea-green bowls
for cellophaned sweets
to the music of fizzy water.

For

We who drowse
in powerpointed twilight,
as time slides slowly past,
we restless slumberers,
fearful of break-outs
and the tyranny of role play.

For we

We who doodle
on hotel-headed notepaper
whilst listening distractedly
to the distant hum
of the motorway
which leads to other places.

For we are

We who leave
money on the table
and grab at pendulous fruit
which hangs so low.

For we are the

We who wait
in expectation
of the fifteen minute respite
offered in the form
of plated custard creams.

For we are the awayday

We who nurse
feelings of jealousy
towards marker pens
that run out
before we can.

For we are the awayday boarders.
We are the onboarded.

And this is the way the day ends
This is the way the day ends
This is the way the day ends
Not with a bang but a flipchart.