A New Year Queue


Image courtesy of Pixabay.com



How can I shout my thoughts to the world,
when trapped in my passage is something unfurled?

Christmas is over - that much is true,
so why can't I shift, then, my arse off the loo?

Year's not done - I must see the end -
so where is the bog roll that should be my friend?

With laughter, I rise - pants at my knees,
but a blast of cold air, alas, makes me sneeze.

How can I hobble - hunt down a roll -
my knees stuck together by poo with no soul? 

The New Year is here - that much is true,
JUST CHUCK US SOME BOG ROLL, IF STUCK IN THE QUEUE!


Copyright owned by Jay Cool , December 2018

Inspired by Ella Wheeler Wilcox's poem,  'The Year'.


Comments

  1. UnknownJanuary 14, 2019 at 6:19 AM

    How ladylike and refined!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Jay CoolJanuary 14, 2019 at 2:15 PM

    There's nothing ladylike about having to clean the bog either - and, yet, the task always seems to fall to us womenfolk!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. UnknownJanuary 15, 2019 at 3:17 AM

      Difficult to imagine a situation where the task to be done and the IQ of the person available so perfectly match!

      Delete

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