Here is a poet who is such a bore,
let me escape, I can’t take any more.
When we all clapped, I thought that was the end,
of feeling the need to act and pretend.
Just listening tortured me into a sleep,
I fell to the floor in an agonised heap.
I look around for a clear path to go,
if I’m discreet, nobody will know.
It would be wise not to stay till the end,
because if I do, I will go round the bend.
