Fresher

First time back and I twitch and fret, make no attempt
to brush away the stains of nicotine
on fingers, sport sullenly these tokens

of my crossing, rituals of girlie prettifying
outgrown, irrelevant
as ankle socks or prefect badge. So where to go,

to strut this new sophistication? Pub
and the mobile home of someone's lostsheep
elder sister. But truth is this: am just

a small fish, tipped without fuss into some
huge dark pond. I can neither see its banks,
make out its other occupants, nor know

if they are friendly. So what have I done, what
titbits do I spread out for their enjoyment?
Got drunk, fell into bed, have not fathomed

how the library works, am far too scared
to ask. Know my despair at Blake, terrors
of innocent tutorial will not

appease them. I have nothing to give, clutch at hopes
that next week's Great Expectations, may, if not
fulfilling mine, (as yet unformed), still give me

something to sing of, other than
Experience.