I remember moving furniture

I remember moving furniture

Around in a small room

Trying to find extra space

When there wasn’t any,

Whilst drinking whisky

Straight from the bottle,

Falling asleep on a sofa

Waking up in the morning

To attend an interview

For a job as a draughtsman

At British Aerospace

The guy behind the desk

Was a cadaver

With blotchy skin

An eye that looked backwards

Into the belly of the beast

And his name was

On the tip of my tongue

Until he asked me

If I was to be offered the job

Would I cut my hair?

With designing engines

His eyebrows moved independently

As he repeated the question

I was reminded of Spock

And made the sign

To live long and prosper

I said no

The job disappeared

Along with my desire

To conform.

The room didn’t get any bigger

But my dreams did

It was the least I could do.