Tomorrow

When the waistbands in the wardrobe seem to shrink
as small as phone-book print,
When you admit you can’t walk in high heels
but cardigans seem stylish,
When News at Ten’s a lilting lullaby
and you are beckoned up to bed by books,
be thankful that tomorrow holds:
no recurring nightmare of exams
no stifling a smile that’s laced with steel
no unnoticed, unrequited love’s despair
no disappointing acne-potion promises
no last-student-quid for bread or beer
no flat furnished with other people’s smells
no pressure to prove yourself
no fear of failing to fit in.
Pull on your pyjamas and sleep sound.