Nicocreon of Cyprus

The tyrant Nicocreon called me
from updating Access spreadsheets.
I was blue, semi-conscious
while the temp, maddened
by our bewildered clients,
spat and shouted on the phone.
I had offended some god
Nicocreon told me. Perhaps
this was why I was alone
and the mysteries of Access
held no wonder for me.
I had tattoos on my hands.

Down Chalk Farm Road
I walked living the dream
of previous nights, fry-ups
and alcohol on the warm wind. 
The slim street-lamps pulsed. 
In this version you were there. 
Now we were not in love
the possible light had gone;
we were near strangers.
On the Thames’ shoreline
as the tide went out
new ground became visible.

@ianjmclachlan