A pome that would never be written during a Spanish summer

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Sleeping Comfortably at night can be a challenge

The bed is warm and womblike, your feet like buttered toast,

When beneath the covers comes the call, the thing you dread the most.

 

You’ve only just defrosted and dropped off, or so it seems

And now contrary innards have disrupted your best dream

Your brain is slow to surface: it tries to stay submerged

Within the arms of Morpheus, ignore the primal urge

 

toilet dreamThe sea bass you were eating on the island, in the sun,

With the hunk you were convinced this time might really be The One

For reasons you can’t quite work out, is now swimming in the loo

Has grown arms, and hands and fingers, and is beckoning to you

 

You try to shift position, move a leg, gyrate a hip

Adjust a pillow, anything to give the urge the slip

You want to sleep, perchance to dream of shoes and chocolate cake

But your body is determined, and it wants you awake.

 

cartoon_owl_on_a_tree_branch_at_night_with_stars_and_a_full_moon_0515-0908-1500-2404_SMUYour other half, meanwhile, is sleeping peacefully and tight

Hands crossed on his bosom like some medieval knight

To wake him would be degenerate, dastardly, a crime

His prostate isn’t acting up. Not yet, but give it time

 

 

You lie there, twitching gently, not to wake the slumbering one

As your bladder shouts admonishments of what you should have done

‘I thought I had,’ you mutter ‘just before I cleaned my teeth.’

But your bladder turns a deaf ear, as it screams for swift relief.

 

Eventually the torture is too much. With a sigh you ease a toe

In the general direction that your bladder wants to go

Stifling a gasp, you put your foot upon the icy floor

An act that aggravates your inner urges even more

 

shiveringBetter to grab a dressing gown, or to eschew delay?

You go for speed, teeth chattering, as you rush on your way

No time for slippers, glasses, lights or clothes for you

As naked and myopic you go dashing to the loo

The porcelain is icy: now your poor rear is as well

Can you get frostbite in your cheeks? Only time will tell.

 

Returning to the hollow that still holds your body heat

You feel sensation creeping down your legs into your feet

Your mind begins to wander as you gently drift away

And ponders things that make no sense but wonders anyway

 

alligatorAre lemons good for goldfish? Can seed potatoes wink?

Is Captain Kirk a Hindu? What do alligators think?

What happens if a caterpillar finds it needs a wee?

Does it struggle from its chrysalis, and suffer, just like me?

 


 

 

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2 thoughts on “A pome that would never be written during a Spanish summer

    • Seems a very long time ago, now we are sitting with the fans on, feeling wilted and lethargic, doesn’t it? Winter will come around soon enough, and we can all start reminiscing about summer again!

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