by Lauren Cooper
(1964 - 1999)
When I read Burning Daylight, by London comma Jack,
I knew I'd found my model man; I've never yet looked back.
I whistle, stamp and stride about; too weak for hands in breeches;
I swill my pints of home-brewed beer; I weed, and fall in ditches ...
I chip the teapots, casseroles, smash cabinets full of
My family say you know I've called: Elephants have passed!
I whip the bowls about and pound the peppercorns, not shake
A mill as I'm supposed to; noses and innards quake ...
On Monday it is shopping, tea-making, walk with Frog;
The afternoon is baking; windows, gagging the dog;
The evening spent in weeding, rose-bush pruning and, you'll see,
Throughout the day I'm grinding out more crap on the PC ...
Tuesday there's surely time to write; I sit down to try
But hardly have I parked me ass than I start to rue the quie-it.
I bake again, water the plants, cook tea ready for Frog;
We eat our tea, drink up the wine, go walkies with the dog.
My friends may be astounded; no-one knows how I can do
Any of the many things that I set my mind to.
But action is the comforter; calm rest does not agree ...
Call me Daylight: Burning it is what I've found best suits me!