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,
Copyright owned by Jay Cool , December 2018
Inspired by Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s poem,  ‘The Year’.


3 Comments Add yours

  1. How ladylike and refined!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Jay Cool says:

    There's nothing ladylike about having to clean the bog either – and, yet, the task always seems to fall to us womenfolk!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Difficult to imagine a situation where the task to be done and the IQ of the person available so perfectly match!

    Liked by 1 person

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