Pekingese twins

Some days are Sundays
play days
pray days,
I stay away from the latter days

the saints do not approve.

I’m trying to move
my right arm
the one with a touch of cramp,
I had a touch of that in my right foot
and an itch behind my ear
which might be the age
I’ve arrived at
or just the time of the year.

Back to the nursery.

when the piggywig stood
down in piggywig wood
as only piggywigs could
looking for mud, he was
wondering why so
many teddy’s passed by

and the story ends with pork scratchings

(my nursery was a dark place)


Sister said,
‘your wiring’s shot,
you’re not plumbed in’
I think my sis’ has been on the gin.

Some Sundays are days to remember
and some I would rather forget.

For my next trick and fourth cup of coffee,
feeling awfully jolly and watching
the cream get the cat
or does the cat get the cream?

some Sundays arrive in a dream
and God only
knows if I’m in one of those.

Eventually which was shortly after but not
before time
the cramps left me,
I moved deftly
(what else?)
into the day.
which by the way
was still

© 2018, John Smallshaw.