Balsa wood doesn’t rot
Does it not?
Apparently not.
How much have you got?
How much of what?
Balsa wood (that doesn’t rot).
me.you.coffee
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Tag Archives: short poem
The Carpet Cleaner
As the millionaire Chairman knelt on the ground
the workers around him could do nothing but frown.
For the silver haired leader, an octogenarian,
was restoring the carpet to a sparkling new state again.
With more cash in the bank than the east side of Surrey
he scrubbed at the carpet with blood, sweat and hurry.
When asked why he didn’t just replace the duff tile,
he looked up and responded with a wink and a smile,
“It’s the little things, dear boy, that lead to the big.
If I replaced every carpet, each time Sue dropped a fig,
I’d never have got to where I’ve got to today
(with Rita in Gloucester, and Joan in Herne Bay.)”
“Take care of the pennies and the pounds, they will follow.
A carpet cleaned here, means Sushi tomorrow.
Or lobster with Megan, in Clacton-on-Sea,
You’ll be tickling the rich, boy, take it from me.”
light in the dark
The water still, the candles lit
Music plays and darkness takes a back seat.
No drips are heard nor drops of tears,
The flame ignited lives on.
Flicks
Oh, so you’re going to the cinema on a Friday night? Have fun.
There’ll be nobbers and nutters and pie keys and clowns
and all sorts of people that won’t put the phone down.
A sticky floor, (hopefully from sweets)
A shit tonne of adverts and that one wonky seat.
Flat Pepsi cola and popcorn that’s chewy,
you’ll wonder why you didn’t wait for it to come on the telly.
