This is a fragment. Or a rough, first draft. Or a piece of writing that should be binned. Or a work of genius. Dear reader…make up your own mind.
It is also, like yesterday’s, very today. Which makes intrinsic sense. Kind of…
This may, or may not, be about me.
This may, or may not, be about a certain young man I know.
I may, or may not, know any certain young men…
I’ve had 20 milligrams of codeine and a glass of pinot grigio…I should know better than to write in this state…
Sally met a boy, whilst walking to the fair
He very kindly offered, to escort her there
He took her to the side-shows,
And won a fluffy bear.
He gave the bear to Sally, a token of esteem
He said “I’m young and boyish, but I’m not all that I seem”
He took her up the alley
And got right in between.
As the sun was setting, Sally set off back
Returning to the chores and stife,
Inherent to being mother and wife
Left the boy to his carefree life
Rolling young girls in the sack
Next week she went to market
Spied the boy once more
Dodged around the fruit and veg
Lest he think her a bore
He found her by the carrots and peas
Stroked her till she fell to her knees
Begging him “oh young boy please
Stop it…you’re doing my head in”