Cosily dozing in angular poses,
Eclipsing Euclidean credos from
The nib of his nose
To the tips of his toesies.
But from the length of his shoes
I wanna know exactly where the toes go?
Scruffy, scuffed black, lost the receipt
Can’t take em back, or receive store credit
Defs a down-vote if photoed for Reddit.
But credit is where credit’s due,
He might have a soul
But why don’t his shoes?
I’m hung up,
Strung up by the laces,
Tie ’em up in a double knot,
Not double the trouble by not tying a double knot.
Brown prancing ponytail bouncing around
Might slip its knot, but probably not,
And definitely not listening to Slipknot,
Cos he slipped in a sniffling giggle
A passing fidget of air unearthing the mirth
And exhaled without care.
Fairy lights pass by casting a glare
Gracefully garish on the glass in his glasses
Like some kind of supernova stare.
Call me a skeptic but it looks scientific
But not quite as terrific as his exotic scarf
Some constituent part of a technicolor whole,
Joseph might call if he needs to patch up a hole.
Holding the satchel clasped in his lap
Scrunching up wrinkles and writing those
Scribbles onto a Burberry mac.
Cotton relapsed to the fabric attack,
Swing round a corner, then we all swing back
Doesn’t disturb the chap and his nap
Despite his head bashing the glass
He’s still slumping, spine aligned in an off-kilter stack.