CRACKS IN THE SIDEWALK
When I was very small I always used to think
That if I trod on a crack I’d vanish in a wink,
Be swallowed up by the crack in a magic way
And land up in some foreign land far away.

Then I grew wiser, knew that this could not be,
But there to try and trip me up, scuff my knee,
Put there by the bandage folks to make money,
That’s why I had knobbly knees that are quite funny.

Each crack on our patio does not like me at all,
In fact they are there just to drive me up the wall,
For they make all the chairs and my table wobble
As our lovely hamburgers we try and chobble. *

Then pesky weeds show through that have to go,
But they have struggled hard and mercy I show,
Not wanting to pull up those hard working weeds
Until they take over, then with poison I have to feed.

Cracks are a menace, maybe one big slab would do,
But that cracks and I still trip and weeds show through,
It isn’t as though I have a dislike for the poor old crack,
But for anything useful that annoying crack will always lack.

Now reading over this poem, quite guilty I do feel,
Talking about the crack that way I feel quite a heel,
So if anyone has a nice tale about the poor old crack,
I’ll write another poem on another different tack.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson September 26, 2003
2003/3311/crack/life/humour