He digs and drills so deep

that foundations may well crumble

Bottles himself away in lonely

lines of ribbed blue glass

upon some lop-sided shelf

The handwritten label, applied

and slid square with the rest of the world

The contents sealed in

wax from the neck down to do their time

Do not operate the machinery

Please comply with dosage

Please comply with

Please comply

Please

After ‘Dreams of leaving (Got to get out)’

by Peter Crompton