Monday 5 May 2014

The Neighbour poems

Oh, Mr. Strimmer Man
Oh, Mr. Strimmer Man, have you considered,
How your mechanized whippings might be delivered,
To the ears of those restfully still in slumber,
Or trying to get their heads awake and into order,
I know your path is unruly and overgrown,
But Mr. Strimmer man you are alone,
In thinking such activity is in anyway community,
As we have yet to reach the time of seven thirty,
Please, Mr. Strimmer man, have a heart and turn off
Your strimming apparatus and make it stop,
My head is alive with the sound of a million bees,
And I feel the vibrations into my knees,
Just an hour’s more kip would be so welcome,
Not the sound of your landscaping indiscretion,
So please, Mr. Strimmer man, go and have some brekkie,
That path will still be there considering it’s pebbly.


(2 hours later)
Oh, Mr. Mower man
Oh, Mr. Strimmer man, you’ve now advanced to mowing,
How fast do you think the grass in your garden is growing?
You’ve been at it for three hours and no sign of respite,
I can only assume you are trimming the very air and sunlight,
As it is a tiny lawn that is smaller than your house,
Perhaps you like the sound the mower makes drowning out your spouse.
I should be thankful though, you are stopping me from dozing,
I was up till three am on editing so I should continue working,
I should be thankful too that as I peeked out the curtain,
You are fully attired this time with more than just a shirt on.

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