Unscrambles the day

It’s a bother to bother when
you cannot be bothered,
I am not bothered about that.

Her
tongue ran away with her
as so often it did.

Funnily enough
the fever was hot and
I felt cold.

Coming attraction
self satisfaction.

playing the beads on a rosary
watching her legs in that hosiery
the devil supposes he’s got to me
I’m having my coffee in bed.

Taking my cues from the fuse box
I put on electric blue striped socks
the postman rings the bell
(knocks would have rhymed,
but what the hell)

Thinks out of sync and
the bubble’s not there,
no comic book jests
nothing to share

only me
and a coffee.

If I am getting where,
when?
when the ink dries up
in my ballpoint pen?

I straighten my tie
tie up my shoelaces,
sprout wings
and
if this was real I
could fly

but it’s Friday
and tears
until the weather
clears up and
the Sun
comes out.

that’s about it.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.