I'm hobbling around the streets of Doncaster at the moment; suffering from a severe case of what I call 'Tall Bus Passenger's Knee.' This is caused by spending too much time tightly wedged into a confined space, engine vibrations surging through my legs which are trapped by the back of the seat in front.

Of course, because I'm finding it painful to walk everywhere, I need to take the bus.

MACHINE CODE

A machine, in spate
Floods the room
With noise.

In the semi-detached darkness
Ghostly figures prolong
The agony of work.

Upstairs, in the office
A total lack of emotion
Sparks a 999 call
To the fire brigade
And a quick response.

I've finally managed to persuade my landlord to visit the property and have a look at some damp in the bathroom. He hasn't committed himself to doing anything about rectifying the problem yet; certainly nothing specific.

SUBURBIA

A flock of frost
Grazes the front lawn.

Yesterday afternoon
I serviced the lawnmower:
Served it right.

I'll send the bill
For my labour
To the Met Office
This time, I guess.