Sick days,

Sick days...

Not ill just got a cough,
on the bus and can’t get off.
Spiky hair white trainer shoes,
these I’m sure he’ll never use.

Space music far to loud,
nose dripping, not to proud.
Head knocking against the glass,
rubs his eyes then pokes his arse.

This is my journey made in hell,
but he won’t care about his smell.
If I don’t find another way to go,
perhaps the courage to let him know.

I wouldn’t wish this on your dog,
this cretin smells worse than a bog.
If I just give him a nudge,
then maybe he’ll think, and budge.
 
What am I saying, he’s a fellow man,
but I’m sure I’d kill, now for a plan.
Perhaps when he is on the stair,
no what am I saying, o my despair.

What happens if my plan should fail,
my goodness then I end up in jail.
Then what would the neighbours say,
that cheeky wee Scots been put away.

Aha I see the final bend,
my journey’s nearly at an end.
But woe and woe my deepest sorrow,
for it’s the same again tomorrow.

And yesterday while i was negotiating,
that other nitwit with the voice so grating.
He was gibbering right at my ear,
And all I could smell was beer.

But finally, he gave his nose a pick,
that was it, I was bloody sick.

My minds made up, today is Monday,
I’ll say a prayer for all my brothers,
this coming Sunday.