Whatever comes to mind before I alter it with the overpaint of time. Mostly satire, poetry and fiction but occasional unreliable fact, as all facts seems to be today. From deepest Notting Hill. London.
Sunday, 17 August 2014
Step ladder, spade, hoe and shovel.
This is our ladder. It isn't mine, it belongs to the muse but I look after it now… I guess it is my step-ladder.
Beside it are my hoe, spade and shovel. I am a plain speaking man: I call my hoe Darlene, my spade a spade and the shovel is full of shit.
The rake is a cad and a bounder and the less said about that the better.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment