You were always blaming things on the boogie.
The time you stayed out in the sun too long
And your speckles turned to freckles: the boogie.
The evening you admired the light of a full moon
Only to trip and fracture your hip: the boogie.
Even those times which once seemed good
Became named, shamed and blamed on the boogie.
I quite liked the boogie.
I didn’t know why you had such a problem with it.
You are nothing but a
space invader,
legroom raider,
armrest encroacher
comfort poacher.
Don’t you know you
steal my sleep,
rustle my sheep,
ransack my rest,
make me stressed?
You may find I accidentally
block your way,
knock your tray,
spill your gin,
kick your shin.
Why don’t you simply
disappear,
get outta here,
off and slope,
dis-interlope?
Your quiff
Felt stiff
From all the hairspray,
I dare say.
This
Poem
Is
Thin,
Slim,
Svelte,
Has
No
Need
To
Tighten
Its
Belt.
