In their desk terraces,

Stoned on cold and boredom

With fifty-two minutes still to go

And nothing left to write about or remember,

Our examinees shuffle and stare

Like a grim crowd at Norwich City

Waiting for a goal that never comes.

In the roof of this breezeblock leisure dome

Propellers flap like aircraft that can’t fly.

In one corner, two heaters nibble a glacier.

The floor - a parky one - is marked for badminton.

But not for inter-desk ice hockey

As we clatter across it dispensing paper.

And this long siege itself mocks everything - Barbarossa,

Frozen Storage... everything except exams anyway.