[you] sat on a park bench Thunderclouds surround [your] head [you] glare harshly at passersby None above [your] wrathful glance The darkest storm withers And yields to fogs of gray As [you] eclipse once sunny skies
"Hey [you]" Squeeks the smallest of girlish voices "What. Do. You. Want, small one?" [you] wheeze through gritted teeth "Why do [you] look so grumpy?" Elicits green eyes between blonde pigtails "Buzz off you nosy mouse! [i'm] grumpy Can't you see that!?"
"Why so grumpy, it's a lovely day" [you] cross [your] arms defiantly "Lovely? Hah! Dumb little girl" Her face scrunches up "I'm not dumb" [you] turn your face away To cast [your] glance At other poor happy victims
"Life's pretty good, I think." As she opens candies wrapped "Who made you an exp..." As [you] try to finish fiery words She places chocolate in [your] mouth Brown smear across [your] cheek A moment hangs pregnant in the air The building of a storm
Seconds drag through eternity A twitch at corners of [your] lips But a little girlish gap-toothed grin Drains [you] of feelings so hostile As brutal youthful honesty breaks foul moods, and makes [you] smile
Isn't it strange what ends up breaking through your bad moods?
I don't know what to do, Mother-in-law is coming to stay for a week or two, I bribed the devil for help, It painfully began to yelp, Mothers-in-law are dangerous, In hell ominous , Also there they have their say, They want their own way, Even Satan is moulded to soft clay. If you love your spouse, Welcome her to your house, See she comes alongside you, Not between you.
They whirl and swirl and dive But do they? The no see ‘ems, You can’t see ‘em but you can feel them there Cavorting and frolicking, invisible in the air A dinner time dance, gluttonous splurge You’ll know all about their evening soirée When you discover the main course is … You.
Stupid bugs. Biting my legs. I look like a ****** addict that can’t tell his legs from his arms.
I met an unfriendly parrot I can’t blame him really. He lived in a cage He stood there and squawked Screaming displeasure at all who passed. Staring balefully at sunburnt tourists Asking if polly wants a ******* He doesn’t want a ****** single one.
I did find out what he liked. Completely by accident. Turns out he likes songs, Click songs, because “The white people cannot say Qongqothwane”
He lives in Bahamas and he is quite lovely. I stood there looking the fool and singing to him for 15 minutes.