Gliding into work in a stolen canoe,
I am easy as crisps.
I huff smoke through floodwater,
offer my bong to a duck
bobbing sanguine behind the half-submerged desk
in reception. It does not even quack.
There is a lesson in this.
I phone my boss from the fifth floor
and ask him where he is.
Rain hammers through smashed windows.
'What the hell are you doing there?'
he says, and I laugh.
He tells me to make for the roof
and wave to the passing helicopters.
I say okay, hang up, then eat some fruit gums.
Outside, waves lap round parking meters
which seems funny, for some reason.
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