Just for the bunny

We were sent out,
bent out of shape and lent out
to libraries and cathedrals
where the intimates of academicals
could pore over us
and what did it give us?

broken backs
heart attacks
dodgy hips
and notes written in the margins.

If being in isolation cannot do
away with me
the council refuse men will,

rubbish
rubbish
and someone denies it,
three times I said it
but you only count two of them
because one was paid to the holy men.

Bloody Easter,
no bloody eggs
no chocolate
no buttons
no nothing
because the bloody gluttons
bought them all.

I’d go fishin’ but they won’t let me,
they wanna put me in a lecture hall
to tell them all about it.

Is it Martini time yet?

© 2020, John Smallshaw.