Sunday, 27 March 2016

The Bore

Boring man

Talks all he can

You didn’t see

From where he sprang.

You fidget and jig,

Just a bit,

Look at you watch,

Scratch your head.

You’d run,

if you could,

but you tune out

instead.

Roll your eyes

At worst

Wish for death,

His, not yours.

A run away truck

Before he begun.

Old age

The way

His story

Is spun.

A terrorist

With a gun.

Amen.


No comments:

Post a Comment