Ok, it’s still Friday the 28th
Of August, the previous sonnet’s setting
I’ve dozed for hours on the bus, should feel great
But instead, tired and cold as I’m walking
All the way home, with shoulder bag, dragging
My red suitcase behind me all along
The cobbles and bobbles. I’m suffering
(I realise very soon) from poisoning
By blue cheese that was warm and had gone wrong
On the last day of driving. Still I ate
Some of it, but then thankfully throwing
Most in the bin. Slept blissfully a long
Night, but diarrhoea had become my fate
And all Saturday spent tired, shitting...
Saturday 29 August
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