Auckland Poetry

My Boss’s are probably wondering why I don’t speak
How can I tell them it’s to do with my sleep?
I’m Popeye the sailor man
Sailing all day
Rolling with the high seas searching
How can I tell them it’s kind of neat?
Secretly dancing to a hidden riff
This boat sometimes drifts
Port, starboard, oh my God it’s this
How can I tell them it works for me?
I am going to get down on one knee
I sometimes wonder how that will be
Hey boss I took one of these
How can I tell them what I am?
They won’t ever believe
Make a scapegoat of me
Out the door is where I would be
How can I tell them it’s only little ole me.

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