Working Poem by Ian Kellett

Your vowels were a massive find:
Evenly encased in consonants
And brightly written alliterations.
My tendered ramblings identified
As the lading of a less spacious mind,
And tainted by sloth’s association.

Proudly used in defence of my
Workless ways, and supported by
The ordinary man’s tax burden,
Though fulfilling everyone’s ambition
For them regardless of whether
They sought or reported one.

For the sake of tired arrangements and
In the wake of understatements made
By the digressions of an ageing man,
I am stuck, but not for the trials of
Sticking or the act of trying to
Avenge the reliance of convention.

But still, the over riding unending
Knowledge that your simple doodles
Far outweighed my cart load;
But still, I try, endlessly attempting
More than failure offers in the hope
That what’s offered won’t fail.