The Day of Insignificance

If I'd woken up sooner, I'd have a day, a whole extra day,
To live to the max, discover new facts, and work on my tan.
If I hadn't tried to check the timetable on-line,
I wouldn't have arrived just in time
To see the back of my bus, pulling away.
I'd have had twenty-four more hours on my project to become a proper man.

If that git at the station had just let me through,
And not insisted I pay some 'supplement' too,
Or if he'd taken a few seconds to explain
I needed to keep the receipt, I'd have not felt the pain
When I got to the airport, nor the need to complain
And argue, and not ended up paying all over again.

If the signposts for Terminal Two had included the stairs,
And not herded the sheep all into the lifts,
I'd have kept precious minutes spent pulling out hairs,
And stabbing dumb buttons, while those void of gifts,
Such as brains (oh you should have seen them)
They spewed out when they saw light twixt the doors,
Neglecting to note that we hadn't changed floors.

I escaped them, I ran, in my rather warm coat,
Got to check-in, passport scanned, but hope was remote
That they'd let me board. They called up the gate,
Quite a long talk in foreign, so... no.
I was just this much late.

My first ever missed flight.

"You could have just walked through security if you'd checked-in from home,"
Said the nice lady at the desk, "Someone you'd like to 'phone?"
Good point - there was the small matter of my hostess's house keys
That I'd put through her letterbox, so "Yes please."

Now I'm back at main station, and I'm writing this
Instead of living the useful day I'll now miss.
If I were back home, I'd be forging ahead,
Filling each second with another book read.
I'd be finishing symphonies, curing cancer,
And in World of Tanks improving my panzer.
This wasted day - oh! The things I could do!
Still, I suppose I could eat up your tiramisu.


I missed my flight in Stockholm. I called my hostess from the airport, and we arranged to meet at Gamla Stan tube station so that she could give me her keys. I finished the poem in the central station, and in the time it took to walk from there to meet her, I learned it by heart. When I arrived she was already there, and I launched into the poem without an intro or even making it clear that it was a poem at all. I think it did the trick. I've also bought her a bottle of mulled wine with saffron.

The night before I was due to leave, we ate supper together in the kitchen and a guest joining us had brought round a large packet of tiramisu which we didn't finish. My hostess had wanted me to finish it, so that she wouldn't end up eating it all herself, but I was stuffed. This explains the last line.

Watch me perform this on YouTube


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