I promised a new poem - it's been a year since the last one.
Do I really want to to sit and write,
A poem on a Friday night?
I know I'll try to do it right,
But it'll just come out as rubbish.
Of all the rotten stinking luck,
My wife's gone out start to tuck,
Into some tasty Peking duck,
And all I wanted was a nice evening in together.
I'm not quite in contented bliss,
My poem's really hit or miss,
Of genius it needs a kiss,
But now I'm desperate for a trip to the bathroom.
You know, its not as easy as I remember,
To write as I did last November.
Or even to control my temper,
Or find some emotion to engender.
I'll have to stop right here I think,
In my defence there is a chink,
I'm almost right up to the brink,
Of where my poem starts to stink.
Ho hum.