So much to do, so little time for it
Practice guitar, see a film, meet a friend
Do exercises, writing this sonnet
(But not at the same time); yet when it ends
I’ll be sad. No, wait - just before it ends
When the end actually comes I’ll be at peace
More so than while alive. No-one will send
Me bills, slag me off (or will they?); they’ll cease
Their indifference. No, wait - that will increase
Cos I won’t be there. But I won’t care. Grit
Teeth for now, while I still can, and don’t bend
Too much in life’s wind, or slide on life’s grease
While climbing the pole to nowhere. Don’t sit
And relax, though, or I’ll get fat. The end.
I like this one - one of my favourite poem genres 'cynical bastard' - you do it well x
ReplyDeleteWhy have you got a snowing pic of you in July?
ReplyDeleteHi Jude - Cynique, moi? Not normally - I think this is an offshoot - comedic cynical bastard. There's no point actually getting irate about anything - better to poke fun at it!
ReplyDeleteJude, i rarely change the pic! this one is from a year and a half ago now - snowfall is very rare in Manchester so on that day - although it was a workday - I took quite a few pix. Or was it dandruff? No, snow.... x