Sunday, October 2, 2011


Today, dear friend of mine
I must sit you down and talk
Of matters no more pressing
Than the state of our building block.

Merely a neighbourly heart-to-heart
About our rickety building lift
It's been a little...redolent of late
Of urea, if you catch my drift.

Your darling child is an angel, now
So young, his bladder so wayward
We love him, though, we bear him no ill-will
When he leaves the lift smelling like turd.

You, dear friend, are an angel too
We know you're brimming with empathy
Always looking to help us out
What else could explain your apathy?

All you needed was a dirty rag
(that shirt of yours would have done too)
And cleaned the mess off the lift floor
But no, you had nobler things to do.

Only you would think about
(and then, cunningly devise)
A plan to keep us fit, despite
Our complete lack of exercise

So now we trudge up the stairs
Cursing your name along the way
But in our hearts,we know
Your kind deed we cannot repay

But dear friend, I must tell you,
YOU don't live on the 6th floor
Me? I'm left, everyday,
Trembling before the lift door.

I invoke all my ancient Gods
To take away the acrid reek
But they fail, and I'm left panting
Every tiring day this week.

Next time, dear friend, don't bother
For while we love your largesse so
our poor lungs are overworked
Just clean your bloody mess and go!