by Colin Ward

Created on: May 25, 2008

FOES IN MY HEAD

With every soul, that closes in on me,
I presume, the advance, of another enemy.
All incoming deemed, to be a direct attack,
as I journey through life, on a bumpy, pot-holed track.

Take the hooded chav. Track suited peacock crow.
Probably a nice bloke, who I should really, get to know.
But I find my self menaced, by the cheap gold bling,
And I do my silly utmost, to keep away from him.

I avoid the confident, and too able soul.
For fear he will talk me, into a big hole.
Then he'll spit me out, like some foul food.
All tied up in gob juice, and grossly over chewed.

And why is that policeman, loitering on the street.
Is he there, in waiting, especially, for me?
Have I committed, some big heinous, shameful act,
and now my time has come, to live amongst the lags.

Worst of all, the boss, with his, petty ways,
who insists I always do, just what, he always says.
Who is ever ready and willing, to have a little pop,
and make me feel, the pleb I am, a pile more on top.

But in my mind, I must deal, with this insecurity,
I have to stop thinking, everyone's got it in for me.
The human race, like any face, has a few, greasy spots,
but I must take a brighter view, because acne, it has not.

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