In the scale of A or B
I come in at number three and
my time's caught short like an
incontinent man, so
you **** your pants, but you carry the can?
obviously,
if you have a tin to **** in that's what you do.


The tincan, **** poor man now there's a moniker to tinker with.

At fifty nine,
I've had some time to ponder on and pontificate, to  moan about the state we're in, to carry the can and one spare tin and yet no time at all in the scheme of things which brings me back to A or B, I wonder which and where the number three came in.

I build a maze to amuse and it confuses my sense of direction, here over there, do a right back to where and my time's caught up with me,
I need a ***.