by Nick Gisburne
I need to trim my bush, but now I can’t.
I cannot find the thing I stick inside.
There should be other options, but there aren’t.
You won’t believe how long, how hard, I’ve tried.
I’ve searched, it seems, forever, up and down,
And found a few more things I thought I’d tossed.
But cries and curses, fifty shades of brown,
Regrettably convince me it is lost.
What staggering insanity is this?
The missing widget, here, inside my hand,
Outrageously impossible to miss!
You’d need a closer look to understand.
These batteries are smaller than you think.
The bush can wait, I’m having me a drink.
