Dressing

She doesn't haunt my dreams, she haunts my halfcocked
mind, an hour before the buzzer
proves my dark suspicion day has come.
So says the Kid, putting on his string vest,
putting on his Y-fronts, putting on his socks.
To face a sky as grey as Brum.

Time was when I would get up early
to go to church or read Catullus,
erect beneath my dressing-gown, or creep
...