another crap poem

[supasayer]

Another crap poem

A weekend at the in-laws
Lounging indoors
In their bedroom palace.
I’ve been chongin’ weed,
Like a Rasta with his chalice,
They’ve been at the grape juice.

For me particularly
It’s like opening a sluice
To the debris of my mind;
It’s like a jumble sale in there:
Never know what you will find;
As the obligatory LCD bedside timepiece reminds us of the time.
It’s approaching 2 a.m.
And I’m fully primed
For debate of any kind.

As I imprint my behind
In their luxurious duvet
I throw out my hook,
“Give me a theme for my next poem, anything, whatever, I’ll write it,
I don’t give a fuck”
They comply with my somewhat self-absorbed request,
Trying their best to put me to the test,
Delivering humorous potential titles and trying hard to suggest
A range of issues.

Then, Jon has one, this one,
About my excessive use of toilet tissues
To prevent unnecessary backsplash
When I go to the loo;
And, I’m not talking for a slash.
I’m expounding on the propensity of a number two
To oft collide with clear water with fury and a crash.
(I must have mentioned this practice during a previous chat.)
So I said OK and that I’d give it a bash,
Hence, this mish-mash.
It’s lucky I don’t write these words for cash,
Not that they’re too crass
Just that the theme of this poem is crap.