Walton sits down at his desk,
takes his pen and writes a word,
then another, breathes in deep,
blows out air, then writes a third.
Walton looks up at the door,
thinks he sees a friend walk past,
drinks some water, takes a piss,
writes two words down fast.
Walton scratches at his nose,
looks and sees five words are done,
thinks a while then changes one,
looks out at the sun.
Walton feels five words are good,
adds them to his out-tray now,
sits back slowly, stares outside,
scratches, wipes his brow.
Walton sees his in-tray high,
wonders at what he should do,
sees his out-tray is still low,
balances the two.
Walton gets up from his desk,
stretches back and puts on coat,
wanders out into his life,
lumps lurk in his throat.