Q

Q

I like to read

I hate walking

i love dogs

Q

Some people dive into pools

Some people dive into rivers

Some people skydiving,

Some people dive into their minds

Never to come out again,

But not this one,

There’s only one place,

She likes to go diving,

And that’s into a good book,

After of course,

Diving into her small round pool,

On her balcony,

Surfacing from its depths,

To reach over,

Its rubber lips

For a glass of red wine,

And her book,

Where the wild things are,

Diving in there,

She becomes Max,

And,

She becomes their King,

Roaring out the orders.

Lonely,

With no friends, she returns to the pool,

The wine drooping from here hand,

She swoops it up,

And downs it in one quick gulp,

After such a traumatic journey,

The sweat still dripping from her forehead,

She looks around,

She’s hungry,

She needs more wine,

But, she’s too stiff to move,

Bingo runs up to the pool,

His lead in his mouth,

He starts singing his favourite song

B..I..N..G..O

And Bingo was his name,

O!

Yet, she only moves,

To pick him up,

And put him in the pool with her.

The Family Marts,

Just around the corner,

Not to far away,

Its not like she’s,

………………………

Shhhhhh

Lazy!

She could write an essay

On the Russian revolution,

And the cons and pros

Of the cold war,

Like stripping a cow of its milk,

With her two hands,

A little challenging,

Nothing to her,

But far out of reach of someone who’s lazy!

She, just doesn’t like to walk too far,

Just where its necessary,

No more no less,

Just right,

Like the Special K,

She eats every morning.

Her dog’s her life,

When she wakes,

He’s sitting at the end of her bed,

Looking up at his mum,

His tongue wagging,

Wetting her bed,

When she sleeps,

She picks him up,

Giving him a hug

And a kiss good night,

Regretting that she has to spend,

So much time away from him,

She loves her dog,

If she could afford it,

She’d buy the whole kennel,

And be known as the dog mother,

Unfortunately for her,

Teaching English doesn’t pay that well.

She, drops her wine glass,

It hits the hard concrete ground,

Glass shatters,

Flying everywhere,

Leaving a minefield,

For her to negotiate,

When, eventually,

She gets out,

Her glass is replaced by her phone,

She makes that one call she needs,

And it’s not long before,

A new bottle of wine,

This time with paper cups,

And a new book,

Having felt like one,

For misplacing her glass,

This time,

Her book is Roald Dahl’s,

The Twits!