Cue to Queue

What is the proper etiquette
For declining to bypass security
Measures by walking through
Perspex barriers two-by-two?
I don’t recall, but forcing the issue
By swiping your card made me
Choose – to hesitate and lock
Us both out, or to cheat
And leave you too little time
To cross the line and make it
To the toilet. In my defence
The cat woke me at 4am
Breaking through the bedroom
Door, my lunch leaked in my
Handbag, forcing me to alter
My commute, omitting the exercise
Portion of the early part of my day
So I was barely awake
And very keen to pee
Somewhere other than the
Carpeted corridor. In short, true
Gallantry’s all very well, but
Don’t do it again.
My bladder may not support
The dilemma.

O, Camelot, Where Art Thou?

Everything is awful
And yet, we persevere
Leaving hope to poetry
To trundle on in fear

That one toe too far over
The party’s bread-crumb line
Makes weeding out dissenters
A mere matter of time

While power speaks for no man
And landed gentry frown
To battle one another
For the puppet-master’s crown

We’re plotting for a future
Most hope never to see
Still bargaining, unseated
And without a winner’s fee

But how to hold our assets
From the treasured hoarding trust
While shoring up economies
Still reeling from the bust
 
Can you perceive horizons
That might signal Finnish line?
I’m getting more myopic
Through these passages of time

And ravaged, lost and sleepless
With no comfort to be had
I’m all but feeling helpless
To prevent what drives us mad

External shadowed forces
May be mustering to lead
The ignorant through tripery
To see how Red we bleed

For driving all before us
While historic, still untrue
No plaudits for the chorus
Of Titanic bally-hoo

I’m not to know the answer
Though I wish, it is in vain
My child must be my Reason
For I voted to Remain

Tied Hands

I wish I could help
But I can’t, I can’t
I lack the autonomy,
Forced to plant
My feet on the bars
Of this creaking fence
And dole out excuses
Of common sense

Oma says

Little old ladies dressed all in black
Carry great loads on their rock-solid backs
So next generation may learn how to play
They work ’til they drop and are carried away

Little old ladies have little to lose
They’ve time to be gentle and courage to choose
May praise what achievements are worthy of love
And prod at the arses in need of a shove

Little old ladies can lead from behind
Obedient offspring (it’s all in the mind)
The strength of the nation all summed in a phrase
“Old wives’ hands hold answers”, or so Oma says.

A fairytale

A maiden fair did gaze one day
Into a well I heard her say
I shall not wish for silly things,
What good are princes? Diamond rings?
Instead, I ask for common sense;
The right to choose from this day hence:
What path I take, for good or ill,
And whether I go on the pill.
(This maiden fair was as you see
More sensible than you or me).
She begged the well then, on her knees
To grant her one last favour, please?
And my ears pricked to see what might
The girl choose now to ease her plight.
Dear reader, be you not amazed,
Though I was shocked, in quite a daze
At what next I heard issue forth
From that peculiar rosebud mouth:
She bid the well send her a gift,
Not tall or handsome, strong or swift,
But one which would (and I don’t err)
Next in life, be “good for her”.
So there I stood, struck dumb with awe
Wondering at what I saw:
A girl, though young and lithe of limb,
Choosing wisdom over sin.

On the inconsiderate spreading of disease

The cogs are turning in my belfry
Hours may strike ere I feel healthy.
Public transport equals germs
People share so we take turns.
If they’d only use a hanky
I might never feel so manky,
But that takes intelligence, and
Britons seem to have no sense.
Rather than a week in bed,
I’d much prefer a clearer head,
But thanks to those who choose to sneeze
I’ve no choice but to take my ease.
It’s not my fault I’ll be off work,
Due to some stupid, thoughtless jerk.
So I can’t help but feel incensed
By others’ vicious, pinching pence.
I’d buy you all a handkerchief
If I had funds – to save me grief!
But as I’m rather short this year
Instead, I’ll make one thing quite clear:

All those who spray me with their germs,
I’ll wish you many ill returns!