Not the done thing

My head is in a bucket

And they

Chuck it chuck it chuck it

Pea after pea

Until they fill up my nostrils

And push along the ear canal

Like day trippers


They bombard me with this

And I can’t do that

And that persona is non grata

And that pea is fat

And that pea doesn’t speak to that pea

And that pea is plotting greenly

That pea is unseemly

That pea has done something


That was not the done thing

And now it has been done


That pea is tactless

This pea is factless

That pea is fat.

That pea wore something once that was



This one is quirky

That one is lurky

This one lacks the social graces

That was makes some weird faces

That one is older

This one too young

That one is finished

But that one is undone.

That one cares too much

This one cares too little

This one likes peanut brittle

But that one

Is allergic.


You may be pea but you’re way too green

You’re too round too

And you make yourself too seen.

You think you’re pea but you’re not green enough,

You’re too independent and you always act tough.

Or you’re too needy

Too greedy



Look long enough and hard enough I’m sure we’ll think of something

For the bucket must fill up.

Or another way of putting it:

It was not the done thing

And now we’re all undone

It was unthinkable

And now we are all thoughtless

It was too difficult

So now we are easy,

Bright and breezy.

(Although it makes us queasy)

We didn’t mean that

And now we are meaningless.

We don’t know our own mind

So we cut off our hair to spite our face

Because hair is the crowning glory

Unless it grows on toes.

(Although for hobbits

That is fine).