A scaffold pole

I’m told that when some people dream,

Symphonies, songs, magnificent designs

And paradigm shattering theories can be born;

To enrich and change our world.

I’m not in that league,

I’m a silly old fart,

I dream of no science, music, nor art.

So, as my unconscious absorbs

Gale forecasts from the radio

And my weak bladder drags me into wakefulness,

I have nightmares about

A scaffold pole leaning against

My backyard brick wall.

Poised to fall windblown,

Smashing through a window.

I know the scaffold pole must

Be laid down for the peaceful sleep

That I cannot now have,

Because in my dream

The scaffold pole grows

Taller and heavier than it really is

A grey vast iron monster

Which I am unable to wrestle down

To the ground.

So, no theories

No Symphonies, songs,

Or magnificent designs for me

Just fear of a heavy metal defeat.