Getting Over Things

Should I write a poem called getting over things when I haven’t quite got over them yet?

The past rears up to haunt me, you bet.

Why was I not blessed with a better brain?

Then maybe I could stand the strain.

Putting up with things might be better.

That describes things to the letter.

I search for perfection, Paradise.

That rhymes with nice.

It seems I must do it on my own.

What price the telephone?

Okay, I’ll try, you bugger in the sky.

Note, I do not cry.

Omniscient one, I certainly am not you.

I apologise for bugger, that’s true.

Tich Ennis

16th March, 2017

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