Bob Dylan Walking Talking Hypochondriac Blues.
I felt moved to put on the trainers today,
The autumnal sky a riot of grey upon grey,
To step out without a parka was tempting fate-
Next time I won’t be so unthinkingly precipitate.
I prefer to exorcise my thoughts on my own,
Soothed by iTunes, ear buds and the iPhone,
To put behind me ruminations of nuclear cataclysms,
Pounding the pavement is good for the biorythms.
I trundled along as a downloaded Dylan setlist played,
Bob mournfully sayin’ how far from home he’d strayed,
When I saw a flash of lightning, and after a moments pause
A thunder clap, then from Heavens above down she pours.
Four miles from home and soaked to the skin,
Without my parka ’twas quite the pickle I was in,
My nice new blue Nikes turning an execreble brown,
Pristine white socks bleeding blue as it
pis hissed down.
Four miles splashing home was a long hard haul,
Not helped by Bob’s jolly ‘A Hard Rains A-Gonna Fall’
After ‘Buckets Of Rain’ then ‘Shelter From The Storm’
A coolness towards Bob’s insights had begun to form.
All the way home the storm continued to rage,
It hadn’t rained like this since Noah’s Archaic age,
All my miserable way home the rains continued to lash,
Arrived freezing, sporting sodden shirt shorts and a rash.
So now I’m laid low in bed with a bad case of croup,
My wife offers no sympathy but a bowl of chicken soup,
With trembling hands and lips I croaked a pitiable ‘Thank you,’
She left for work, shaking her head, sniffily saying ‘Man Flu.’
But I knew I was sickening, convinced I was getting worse,
So I staggered to the Doctors, to be told to wait by the nurse,
Here I wait shivering, in anticipation some good Doctor shows up
Before this long suffering drip turns his chillblained toes up.