My neighbour, he’s the devil incarnate:
His ample blubber could fill shelves with soap;
His guts, if laid out in a line real straight,
Could lasso moon to earth just like a rope.
He loves to bang doors, pots and pans; no hope
Of quiet evenings or nights swathed in sleep.
To meet him at the top of Everest’s slope
Is now my only dream, in which I keep
Kicking his ass till he rolls down that steep
White mountainside at a tremendous rate.
Now the world’s biggest snowball tries to grope
For handholds, but nothing is there. The creep
Rolls off the edge and then, gathering great
Speed, flies up into orbit. Bye bye, dope!
Fri 4 May 2007
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