Performer

I force myself to smile and talk
when all I want to do is walk.
Vacate this poisoned place in time.
Alone, I’d scribble down my rhyme.

I’d let it flow like sparkling stream.
Then douse myself in drink and dream.
In my own soul – and God I s'pose
I would confide and then compose.

But unpoetic people pry.
They want to know the reason why
a dad, who’s ageing like an oak,
does not behave like normal bloke.

I force myself to smile and nod,
assure them I’m no crazy sod,
but to the grand-kid on my knee,
I then perform my poetry.