Kit Kelen #1390 - the box in which I fit

1390

the box in which I fit

very little air

and shall we say it’s dimly lit?

why not?

say what you like

no one will hear

tight corners but I get around

some say ‘hear the trumpets sound’

feel fear

do nothing anyway

it’s logical in a scatty way

they say you’re toast

but you’re compost

and they know

how you have to think

who built the box in which I fit?

no one ever owns up to it

this one’s down

he’s taken a hit

a pigeon’s hole-in-one

and so you’ve had your fun

cotton socks blessed

and fancy bits

how long will I last in here?

place bets

believe you me

it’s a straight place

they once called it a cabinet

that implied some ministering

there ought to be a song to sing

how I have no regret

all my life they’ve worked on it

to bundle me in

for all my sins

no one said a word

no one even winked

they look over the patient

pale and wonder if he’ll blink

pass the mallet – a little reflex test

this special place for you is best

they’ll even tell you that you’re blessed

to be so boxed with bliss

it’s everything for which you were taught

and needn’t give a second thought

hello worm

and hello ant

nice creased pants

but rather rant?

will this one turn?

between his teeth – see that?

the bit

there isn’t even room to sit

lifetime of service

here’s what you get

this little box in which I’ve fits

and now I stand to attention, salute

because I know my duty

it freaks them every time

and can’t be helped

if by now I’m

just a little fruity

still the bastards crack the whip

to each this box

the perfect fit

must say

could not have thought of

but must thank you all for it