by Steve Ince
Do your slippers smell of kippers,
Or do your feet just smell of beet?
Are you raving at the paving,
Or do you think it’s rather neat?
Is your hair so very fair,
Or do you frown because it’s brown?
Could it be said that it is red,
Or does your baldness get you down?
Can your pet cat put on a hat,
Or does she howl when on the prowl?
Does your dog act like a hog,
Or pretend that he’s an owl?
Can the tar not spread too far,
Is your intent much more hell-bent?
Does it linger on your finger,
And present an oily scent?
Does distraction give you traction,
Or is conceit now quite complete?
Does the sickly vanish quickly,
Once your slippers are on your feet?