Basket Case

Basket case There is a smudge on my computer screen trying to clean it with spit, but no, perhaps it is finger marks left behind by the strange people Who sits in the back of the computer shop? Their diet is cola and chocolate; they are thin, bald and weedy looking I must whisper to them, or they shrink away. They sulk if I disagree with their diagnosis, it will take time to get my computer back. When the owner closes the shop, they climb into toolboxes, the ones with the helpful drawing of a screwdriver, maybe the smudge is a camera watching me when I have a drink tonight, I’ll pour it in the bedroom then go into the bathroom and smoke a cigarette buy a can of coke a bar of chocolate, eat and drink in front of the screen and they will say, look, he is a basket-case like us.