What Is Truth?

My opium poppies never grew
But served their virtual purpose
My courgettes did grow
And served their physical purpose

‘My seeds are rubbish. Another courgette
plant blew away last night,’ Dave mourns
at the pub.

I go to the pub after before or for:
a run up a hill,
working 10 hours, a three hour train journey
in a mask; a business trip to Ireland; a
bike ride; for an anti-flood meeting.

‘You’re the same’, they say. ‘You hang
around you can’t leave, it’s always one more
drink,’ I nod and smile and laugh but it’s not
when it matters.