Poems. (Autumn 2011).

 

I was transfixed. I saw my own name.

Written down by a pro, who could spell my surname.

Someone gave vent. With the force of a lorry.

           And I needed a fix. An alarm clock fix.

Having too many dreams could make me miss tricks.

This woman needed something very different.

Some milk in her tea, and she’d be more efficient.

And her friend too was glum, with matters askew.

Seeing others’ clothes to wash – that’s not a fine view.

I’m now in my car, but it’s not a lark.

I fend off impatience, while trying to park.

Tea loving friend must run away quick.

Saw XI is out – it could really make her sick.

The snooker champion and that scribe.

Do not believe in the slightest it’s good to be snide.

Tea lover is worried, as she sees a spy.

Edgy looking, he doesn’t belong – the wrong kind of guy.

I’ve got this all down, and not had a frown. It’s been fun.

But I must keep mum, or else I’m heading on an epic run.

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