There’s The Rub
I’m heading for my fortieth wink
Belisha lamp beside my bed
I’ve shunned all alcoholic drink
I’ve frozen all my daily bread
I’ve had my seven-thirty worry
And turned my nostrils up at curry
I’m climbing up the wooden hill
I’ve locked my phone inside the car
My tablet’s in the fridge to chill
The dog and cat I’ve had to bar –
They don’t want me to suffer, do they?
Exactly. Keep them off my duvet
Despite the usual aggravation
I’ve had no contretemps or tiff
Since half past three, no altercation
(Verbal cordite? Not a whiff) –
Bring me sack and bring me hay
I’m setting course for Dreamland. Yay
But in the night, my sleep goes bump
Is it BoJo’s constant gurning?
Is it Daesh? Is it Trump?
Is it Putin’s fire burning?
Is it Nigel’s perma-bleat?
Or these two bed-socks on my feet?