For a Fellow Disaster
A friend I gladly join to live a high
life marked by dye-disasters, giggle-fits
and Netflix, and not, as of yet, saying
no when I ask to spend another snug
night, guarded closely by loyal rodents,
atop her lumpy, comfy sofa that
heaves faint beleaguered dusty sighs on each
Occasion my arse plonks back on its seats.
‘tis its owner, I treasure more, for
No other soul has that same sleepy grin,
empathy, charity, or, I’m afraid,
is as accident-prone. But concussed or
lucid, no man denies, she’s the life and
liability of all the best parties.