A right old boot.
She's an outbreak of gloom in the corner
An affront occluded by pain
She could moan all four legs off a donkey
And persuade it to walk off again
She can curdle the milk in your teacup
She can bore your glass eye to sleep
She can out glum a manic depressive
She can drive a blind hangman to weep
She's here as our union contact
Our problems should all go through her
But I think she's too many already
If it's ok with you I'll demur.
Martin O'Neill's Other Poems
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