How much do you unnerve me? Let me count
the ways you manage to deprive me of
pleasure night and day. As I hit my pillow
you start the barbecue and right beneath
my window make an awful hullabaloo.
Your magic hour is 4am and maybe
I nap a bit before the noisy mayhem
of mowers start their shift and very soon
leaf blowers add to the raucous throng
and a drunken bunch of jokers start up
an argumentative ding-dong ending
in a dust-up and piercing siren song.
Can it be your intent to shatter me
with your uncompromising clattery?
‘To Waterloo’
