Up the garden path

The lamp sheds little light,
I really wanted a genie
but I got a pig in a poke,

these old sayings slay me.

Under peeling grey ceilings
she has played on my feelings
and preyed on my flesh.

Dreams do that to you,
make you believe the unbelievable
convincing you
that the voices in your head are real
maybe they are
but I never listen to them because
they talk nonsense.

It’s Friday
and you know what that means?
neither do I.

Brexit day has arrived
or so
the voices in my head
tell me, but as I said,
I never listen to them.

© 2020, John Smallshaw.