Trophy Thought

There’s a trophy thought, every now and then,
Which wakes me in my bed, brings me downstairs
In the dark.
Brailling my way to the desk,
Thumbing for the light switch,
Hunting for pen and paper mates,
I scrawl it down on the back of a Chinese take-away menu
Between the red bean dumplings and spring rolls meal deal starter combo.
My wife, she grunts when I exit the room,
She thinks I’m getting up to eat crisps or steal cake from the fridge,
To gulp the ginger beer, inhale the caramel flapjacks,
The left over mac and cheese,
All of the snacks
Without brushing my teeth.
Of course I am,
But I’m saving a thought before it flutters in sleep.

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