Somewhere, from a classroom,
in the north-east of England
last millennium, (God, I feel old!)
fifteen pounds per square inch
surfaces through the sea of
long-forgotten-remembered-forgotten facts.
Today that atmosphere tall column of air
feels three-fold the force,
leaden skies owning their name.
Bones struggle with a denser gravity,
muscles murmur complaints
a bruised brain puts on hold.
These thankfully infrequent days,
naked lunches triggered by news headlines,
raw reality leaching beneath protective seal.
How to call some men human,
not collapse under the weight of sharing
pace, oxygen and species.
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