Why must you move so slowly?
Why do you drag your feet?
You said “I’m going out now,”
Then stayed right in your seat.
Why do you drag your feet?
You said “I’m going out now,”
Then stayed right in your seat.
I find this quite frustrating.
Why won’t you just go out?
I get more done without you
Underfoot, you layabout.
Why won’t you just go out?
I get more done without you
Underfoot, you layabout.
I think I see the problem,
You cannot find your way.
So I’ve drawn this handy map for you.
Else you’ll be here all day.
You cannot find your way.
So I’ve drawn this handy map for you.
Else you’ll be here all day.
4 comments:
Well it doesn't promote the Baseballs, so you're already on to a winner!
I like the poem! Who knew you had such a soft mushy centre with that foetid, rusting shell on the outside? Hey - you're like what would happen if Iron Man crashed in a pond, was dragged out months later and opened up for the autopsy.
But considerably less stinky x
This is brilliant! Straight to the point and hilarious, the use of the diagram takes it to another level - and I don't mean the 90's band.
I read another of your poems recently and loved it. You're clearly a talented poet as well as having natural wit, evident in your tweets. Your pictures aren't half bad either.
You could be a bounder, a cad. A lackadaisical runaround!!
But this is pretty much how i am everytime H wants me to go out....
I was asked to comment on this. All respect I had for the content of the poem and the wonderfully poetic title is now replaced by pity ;) x
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