Like Hardy Says

'There was the sound of a dry branch snapping
and all that came from my mouth were splinters.'

http://www.abctales.com/story/wilkybarkid/splinters

I end up sitting here, like Stan Laurel,
scratching my head and spiking out my hair;
though I do not have a bowler to wear,
nor a pompous friend with whom to quarrel.

There is some danger of getting splinters
in my fingers, due to my wooden bonce.
I quit my job, but I am not a ponce.

I have enough dosh to last two winters
and big enough balls to see this thing through.

My cat has cancer / He dies watching me write this / So fuck machismo

Telly and a remote control gizmo
are my daytime conspirators, while you
hoover round my feet, put empty beer cans
in the trash and ask; 'How's it going, dear?'

You fail to see that poetry and fear
come hand in hand: This is merely one man's
mid life crisis playing out in public.

Like Hardy says; 'Here's another fine mess...'
as my blood pressure rises with the stress.

I buy a kitten / Who thinks I am his mother / It is not tragic