And once I had cleared my desk

of five years I was grimy and hot,

but it was not enough. So I undid

that rat king of scart leads,

following decades of loose ends—

I made of them little grey stooks,

fastened tight round the middle

with string, and stacked them up.

I did good work. That is what I thought

and still felt as the train passed

from city into parcelled countryside.

I think I said it had been hot. But

my sweat was dried, my nails dirty.

Through the window came the outside

all zesty with grasses freshly destroyed.