A New Year Queue

Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
How can I shout my thoughts to the world,
when trapped in my passage is something unfurled?
Christmas is over – that much is true,
so why can’t I shift, then, my arse off the loo?
Year’s not done – I must see the end –
so where is the bog roll that should be my friend?
With laughter, I rise – pants at my knees,
but a blast of cold air, alas, makes me sneeze.
How can I hobble – hunt down a roll –
my knees stuck together by poo with no soul?
The New Year is here – that much is true,
JUST CHUCK US SOME BOG ROLL, IF STUCK IN THE QUEUE!
Copyright owned by Jay Cool , December 2018
Inspired by Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s poem,  ‘The Year’.

 

Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

3 thoughts on “A New Year Queue

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