It’s far too early in the morning
without a hint of a warning,
massive SLAM assaults my senses.
fast asleep so my defences
non-existent. “What’s with all
thunder?” when a thudding footfall
that it’s a son. FLUSH. SLAM.
farewell sleep now, blast and damn.
one,” I shout. “Hey, why don’t you
a sodding brass band too?”
to the following morning
“What the hell?” without a warning –
here it gets completely barmy –
woken by the Sally Army
through some dirgeful scores;
even worse than slamming doors.
point is made, the band depart,
there feeling none-too-smart,
what I’ve learnt that day:
be careful what I say.
(31st July a.m. Banalities-dels-Asparagus)