The Befuddling Flood

Close to midnight, 13th September 2015.

It’s persisting it down outside and suddenly the electrics die. I hear what I can only describe as Perrier’s Revenge. Water is gushing, running, pouring and doing pretty much anything it can to sod up the stuff in my garage.

 

Over two hours later, Monday morning upon us, I sit cold, sore, damp, cold and damp. Also, sore. Sleep is hours away as I curse all liquids that aren’t alcoholic and type the words “Reverse Rain Dance” into Google. Suddenly, inspiration strikes!

This is a poem, what I wrote.

The Befuddling Flood

“Smile me old mate” my mate said, most merrily
“So lifes rough, but it could be worse!”
At the time, feeling tetchy, I tutted aloud
And jeered at his joy, with a curse.

But now, as i’m writing, his words ring aloud
In the memory banks, in my brain
As I stand, soaking wet, pissed off and pissed on
Allow me, if you will, to explain…

Monday began with a befuddling embuggerance
As the rains filled the drains in the road
It splished and it splashed and it sploshed, so it did
And those drains, filled with rains, spilled their load

With a whoosh, all awash, a flood flooded in
It’s aim, to soak and ensoggen
A-swish it a-swashed right through my garage
Past table and toy and toboggan

(By toboggan, I mean sledge, but you surely must see
that sledge and ensoggen don’t rhyme
Some poetic license, i’m sure you’ll agree
Is acceptable, from time to time)

So the water most wet wetted all it could find
And then, being done, it departed
And I stood, shrugging soggily, sky bathed and baffled
As it finished as fast as it started

I sighed, feeling soggy and said “C’est la vie”
Then ran to my home and my towel
I supped a hot cup and wandered upstairs
To change and to empty my…boots.

They were full of water, you see!
Where was I?
Oh right.

Wet, worn out, weary, I walked to my bed
But sleep, often slippery, slipped by me
For the back of my head was alive with ideas
Apparently, near drowning inspires me!

So I took to my tippedy-tap typing machine
To tippedy type out, in verse
That i’m flooded, befuddled and frankly embuggered
But bugger it, hey? Could be worse!