Greetings, brethren!
In Ballerham
A man didst woke
With nowt to do
But gag and joke
His way wost odd
For time he had
To be a sod
This silly lad
He tweaked his pics
And honed his links
While dishes brimmed
In kitchen sinks
And neighbours shrieked
And staggered home
Twas Saturnight
In Ballerhome
Now night had come
And stillness spoke
For all the folk
Were sadly done
A cup of tea
For Ste, that’s me,
And hob nob’s three
Or two, best be
While girls and boys
Retreat indoors
To have their fun
With body toys
I wonder who
Will read these words
No one, of course
You utter turds
I’ll sit and wait
For phone to buzz
Till tears of grief
Make my eyes fuzz
And then, again,
With my next post
I’ll speak to no one
Like a ghost.
Perfect Chaos 