Beyond Bursting-Point
I walk a mile each day before my tea
That's half a mile each way, you understand
To snag a dime bag (and some contraband)
It's the finest in the land
From here to smugglers cove and back
Is quite a merry stretch of boggy ground
Which we must cross at night (without a sound)
There are hummocks all around
The pathway twines and twists between the dunes
Where lovers pet and thrust as they may choose
Their passions fuelled by lust (and lots of booze)
Failing to remove their shoes
The grunts and the moans help drown out our groans
At tidings in the dreary Morning News
Which we read on the dunes (if we so choose)
To escaoe hangovers and ma in laws droans
I blow a hardy trumpet to be a swallow
(There's nothing more that I can really add)
Which keeps me out doors (it isn't so bad)
Where I've gone totally mad...
The seagulls duck and weave, with plangent shrieks;
That's shrieks, not shrikes, I'm sure you realise
Which you are certain to do do (if you're wise)
Without much counsel from the Ancient Greeks.
Contributors: | dkb, Armful, Barrymore's Ghost, Stacy Alexander, keith c, Apsley, fester, Beefy, albert, Anon., E Greejius. |
Poem finished: | 25th January 2003. |