Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Monkey Bus (A sort of poem thing)

Monkey Bus

Just checking everyone still has their tickets. No excuses here or there, not there or anywhere. If you've lost it down the sofa, lounge, or by gopher. Common be dog, or the wind, it's evil claws and swift fin. There is no way to claim, your ticket fell down the drain, because in the end we all know you are liars.
Spot one, spot them all, a scarf and a black cape, a mole and a shower cap. A liar here, there, every place we turn. Without a ticket there is no entrance, no eyes to read, no heart to love our foul foul words of wisdom.
Without a ticket you stand, bland, in a puddle of shame on the sidewalk, pavement, lane, crying in pain, you've not been framed, you've just been thick. As a brick, with no tick on my clipboard, no seat for your butt. No space for your cigarettes, you've just got bad luck. No shoulder by the window, no sunny outside, no mother of baby, no runaway bride. No fat man sitting, no magician with a box. Your eyes will be just fixed, on the door as it locks.
With no ticket you'll just stand here, alone and forgotten. You'll be in the rain, cold and feeling all rotten.
I got no reason, no feeling to care, you've got no pity from anyone, not anywhere. Your mum ironed your ticket, your fire ate it up, your monkey shredded it or you drank it in your favourite cup.
There is no inside, no warm safety now, you needs to keep your head on straight fool. Don't be a smelly cow. Look where you are going, write down some lists, Even when it is snowing, concentrate on your fists.
Don't run here, there playing cricket, vomiting chunks of laze. Just remember your prickly ticket! And avoid that really complicated maze.

Now run away foul monster, you've made a fool of yourself. Go sit in a dustbin aching, dribbling in the filth. There is no place for you here, you were never tall. And call up the next failure, this lines getting small.

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