A Diabetic To His Steward
A diabetic to his steward
On the table is your sack letter,
Beside my unfinished tea, no better;
Four photocopies of it in my file,
Their original to be collected by you;
Sure evidence that your stewardship was all rubbish
And that, henceforth, I would to you be snobbish.
Your offence was the many sugar cubes in my tea,
For which I had painfully continued to pee;
A bizarre blood sugar level from the lab!
Pictures of my grave finished off with a slab!
Yours was a clever murder move,
My ceaseless tremors there to this prove.
You‘d tried to my door unbolt to an undertaker
And my journey begin back to my maker.
You may now go to my sitting room
For your last wage
But don’t fail to storm my bedroom
For your luggage.
And, please, do forget my clothes in the Laundry,
For even now, they badly sense my quandary.
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