I have a talent for procrastination,
I might write a Hand Book.
Yesterday started with the promise of good things, well done;
Turned into snippets-half baked.
I feel it in my shoulders,
As the Angel, on my left shoulder (I think)
Literally pushes down for me to move.
And the Grinning Gargoyle with the Harelip
Sniggers sweet nothings,
Something about picking up the remote-again.
So many things I could do,
When there’s nothing to do,
This vessel has no rudder
And I’m continually drifting,
The metaphor reminds me of Chocolate, for some unaccountable reason,
I find sprinkles amongst the Baking ingredients,
And with a creativity, bordering on genius,
Cook up a dish to grace any Gourmand’s table;
Who knew cheese crackers and gherkins compliment,
These low-cocoa based scatterings.
The afternoon finds me goggle eyed;
The Holocaust and Comedy shorts,
I know there’s juxtaposition somewhere;
The insanity of unfiltered information.
Finally, tense and in bed,
I dream of Hitler in a Showroom,
Waxing lyrical in hysterical German,
Whilst explaining the luxury add-ons that go with the new Fiat Uno;
To a bemused Benny Hill.