shit poem

T’was the night before boob op

when all through the house

not a flatmate was stirring

not even a mouse.

Hospital stockings were hung

by the fire with care

in the hopes that st christopher

would soon be there.
while I  in my front opening bra

and noone to cuddle

I opened a post

and wrote out this muddle.

And then in four hours

I’ll arise from the gutter

put baggy clothes on

and take out the clutter

and what to my watering eyes will appear

but my best friend lala to tell me there’s nothing to fear.

Advertisements
Aside | This entry was posted in home and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s