A pleasant cycle through the trees is spoilt by the
fuckwittery,
Both child and adult, big and small, a powder keg of lemmings
all,
Way more than one man and his dog all wrapped up warm in
winter togs,
The road a game of risk and chance, they must have hit the
stupid branch,
It’s all a blur before my sight, the runners in their stupid
tights,
Men on skates and kids on scooters, cars complaining with
their hooters
It’s like some bizarre ‘Strictly’ dance, with everyone stuck
in a trance,
Oblivious to all around, until they’re startled by a sound,
You’d single out if not so many, in Southpark this is where
they’d kill Kenny,
The delivery man just stepping out was almost greeted with a
clout,
And taxi man, his hazards flash, but don’t assume they’ll
stop your crash,
I wish this latest of lockdowns could be enforced on
Britain’s clowns,
Police with tasers, dogs that bite, to magic them all out of
sight,
And lock them all inside their home, at least ‘til 2021,
So as the afternoon grows colder, I glance behind over my
shoulder,
Then navigate through Kingston gate, to head back home and
hibernate
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