Wednesday 3 October 2007: Poeyum
This is the Blip Man crossing the border,
Bringing his Mac and the data projector,
It's been a long day, feet are quite sore,
Delivering a talk to a room of four.
Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient's against him, but he's on time.
Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over his shoulder,
Snorting noisily as he passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.