The stampede begins to rumble,

Clammy palms,

The internal pendulum, drumming

Behind the bony bars.

The temperature surges with a sigh,

The mask now frail;

Whitewashed.

Eyes watered and rouged.

A year in production.

The Future, measured in notes,

Never-ending tasks.

Applications at the ready.

More theses or

More experience.

One choice.

They want the pair.

Time thumping away,

Every day, another load,

a new weight to add.

Intake,

Application,

Investigation,

‘Could do better.’