I spent all day
fussing
about uploading
some poetry
onto my blog;
I went to a birthday meal
that cost 50 euros a head
and yet
I still found
reason to complain -
this old boy has life yet,
some might say.
But then the shit struck
and stuck to the fan blades:
a volcano 700 miles away
is like
a stone
stuck in our
craw;
but I'm sure profiteering
will come
before
passenger safety
soon enough.
I spent all night writing,
and went to bed
happy
but numb
and before I clocked off
I wiped myself clean
and thought of you
like the pitiful
old dog
I am.
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