Probe the snoozer loosely,
Don’t wanna rub him up the wrong way,
Or brew my tea with loose leaves,
Re: that, I feel strongly,
Cos it’s my way or the highway.
He’s just dozy from the high grade
Wouldn’t put it past him, look at his grin
Dances on his lips, as if it’s too full to get in.
Covert smirks cover up subconscious dirty work,
From Freudian slips to ignorant quips,
Quickly flicks his eyebrows up as if offered
Something he can’t refuse,
Delectable treats valid for a one time use;
We’re usually used to bits of loose food,
But hedge your bets,
Let’s see what he can do.
Cos he’s got the face of a kid,
But the body of a Sid,
Or a Si, or one of those sorts of guy
You know, more massive than me
But too heavy to fly. Go on, give it a try.
He’ll kick up the dust daubed onto his knees,
Capture a gust with wings of Plaster Paree,
Hitting heights only he can see in his dreams
Before the paper turns to mulch
Runs through his hands like cream,
He wakes up with a start
And finds himself still stuff in his grubby blue seat.