Me

I wash my face, more or less.

When I’m going out, God bless.

The cold water touches my face, I scream.

Cold as ice cream.

I give my hair a rub or so.

I am not in Guantanamo.

I have a beard, so what?

Thanks a lot.

I used to complain you have to shave.

Razors are for the brave.

Also, ten nails need to be cut now and then.

Will it never end, when?

My hair needs cutting, thank God I’m not a woman, that costs more.

Babies on the floor.

Endless personal hygiene.

You know what I mean.

I don’t use male cosmetics nor carry a man bag.

If I was female I would be an old hag.

Thank God for small mercies, whatever they are.

Hippies say I’m made from a star.

If I was a Yank I would eat a Hershey bar.

I drink Guinness to prove I’m Irish, the black stuff, stout.

When will I find out?

What life’s all about.

My space flight is unmanned.

Does anything work out as planned?

My physical being I describe here.

Not to mention beer.

As to my body I am satisfied.

So said a man, then died.

Who cried?

Its too late when you’re the late.

I await my fate.

Life is a happening kind of thing.

Doing nothing suits a king.

It suits me too.

How about you?

Am I ever less than perfect I asked my brother and if so by how much, he said 99 per cent.

I know what he meant.

Possibly he was being sarcastic.

I think I’m fantastic.

Tich Ennis

25^th May, 2019