A Poem for Hour 11

Another symbol of adult life

That escapes me,

Like being a wife

Or having a baby,

But let’s remember

That with these things comes great responsibility,

And that’s something that’s never appealed to me –

I like to come and go as I please,

Or crawl around on my hands and knees

In the third hour of searching for my keys,

Without acquiring a second-hand fur coat

That tickles my nose and sticks in my throat,

So it’s probably for the best

That I don’t have any pests…

Sorry – pets.

(c) Gemma Hinton 14/6/15

 

 

 

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