Lines

I must not throw snowballs

How many times did I have to write that.
200, 300, 500 times?

Lines! That’s what they gave us
as punishments for our misdemeanours.

The next time it was probably
I must not run in the corridor

and the time after that
I must not fake sick notes in order
to get out of cross-country.

I’ve spent a lot of my life writing lines.

Lines that try to make sense of things.
Lines organised into paragraphs and verses.              
Lines about things I’ve done, imagined doing,
imagined others doing

and lines about things I will do
and things I won’t.

Lines that rhyme
and lines that don’t.

And lines like these, written this morning,
about sunlight slipping through the blinds,   
about not needing the heating on,
about this new day dawning.

The Day