Twelve’s only twice, that being reason not to sleep
It is good of my friend (& you) who askt me ne’er to weep
of these troubles, like a man.
That is what they say, disciplined & with a plan.
I suppose now I should take the point to chest,
(his toy & my dream) obediently. So I go to rest
with his language. Woke needing an ibuprofen
taken with large stones in my stomach turning
which lasted five minutes.
Collum from Northern Ireland explained me a killing
by a Catholic copper, & now London is burning
while our streets are flooded with children.
The underground flooded & so are the stoops
say mayor. Yeh, lacking surely was the choice.
Givem longer hours at the court, the kind with hoops.
—Ain’t your problem, parents, so sit back & rejoice.
Lift every other voice
& sing, madly in a loop.
