Thinking About It Poem by George Howard

Thinking About It



By George Howard 05.2010
As I sit here contemplating my navel,
The only thing that comes forth is fluff.
Where does that come from? Tell me if you’re able.
It’s just one of those things, not understood,
Just like socks which disappear in the laundry basket.
You can hunt high and low, dismantling the washer,
But find them you cannot, so don’t blow a gasket!
Like railway level crossings, on stop, when you arrive.
Post office queues full, no matter what time and day.
Pubs with no beer, when you’re dying of thirst.
Trains that are not running, ‘Rain Stopped Play? ’
I could turn off the computer, do something else instead,
Print off some pictures, if the ink hadn’t run out.
Think I’ll give up the ghost, and off I’ll go to bed!

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George Howard

George Howard

Pontefract (Broken Bridge) , UK
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