February’s proving to be a bit rhymey so far. I was rummaging through some old notebooks today, and was intending to share with you a second verse I’d found to my little poem Crusts – I’d forgotten I’d written more than one verse to it. There’s even the makings of a third.
But then I found this and it made me laugh, so I decided to share it instead. According to the notebook it’s from summer 1996, and as it has no title I’m going to call it…
She threw up at the station
And she threw up on the train,
She threw up at the bus stop
And she threw up in the lane.
She threw up in the garden
And she threw up at the door,
And when she got inside the house
She threw up on the floor.
She threw up in the kitchen
And she threw up on the stairs
She threw up on the duvet –
That one caught her unawares.
Sprawled upon the bathroom floor
She thought while she was retching,
“The colours in this sick of mine
Are really rather fetching.”
Of course, it doesn’t necessarily have to have anything to do with being drunk. It could be about a bit of bad fish, or some dodgy cheese.
But somehow… I don’t think so!