Here I sit in solemn repose <br />while some old bag looks down her nose <br />words echo around me <br />and I begin to snort and wheeze <br />like a bull ready to charge, <br />but I must be calm. <br />They talk in riddles <br />to confuse and fiddle <br />then I feel my good luck charm in my hand. <br />My aim is steady, <br />my shot is sure <br />and I return to my solemn repose, a <br />s the old bag looks cross-eyed <br />at my lucky charm stuck up her nose. <br />There is chaos everywhere <br />no one knows what to do, <br />I still sit in solemn repose <br />and the old bag is still cross-eyed <br />looking down her nose. <br />There is nothing they can do <br />and the case is dropped, wow, wow. <br />The old bag goes to hospital ho, ho <br />my lucky charm still up her nose. <br />The sun comes up in the morning <br />and I am still free as a bird. <br />Free as a bird, the word. <br />The air smells like dog muck <br />something you trod in to bring you luck! <br /> <br /> <br />10 October 2002<br /><br />David Harris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/early-works-good-luck/
