“I’m a bee that’s buzzing loudly.
Come on now, everybody,
put your hand on your throat,
feel that vibrating ‘z’ sound.
BuZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
ZZZZZZ. Louder my class of
ZZZZZealous students,
Do it like a craZZZZy Western teacher
who likes ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZylophones.
I’m buZZZZZZing.
You’re buZZZZZZing.
We’re all BuZZZZZing.”
Now that I’ve been writing here to my faithful readers for some time, (my parents, it seems, are my most avid fans), it seems appropriate to quote my own poetry at a time like this, especially when the above words so accurately reflect my present state. I’ve just returned from a cup of coffee. Wait. That doesn’t explain anything. I’ve just been a victim of Vietnamese coffee. There, that’s much better. You would think there would be nothing simpler, right? WRONG! My new home, an apartment housed in a large monstrosity of a skyscraper, also contains a coffee shop called Trung Nguyen. Having been a little ‘under the weather’ lately, (not the dreaded, drum - playing hang-over fairies this time but the more sinister, ‘lets see your intestines’ food-poisoning kind) I decided I’d break the monotony of being a certified couch potato and venture to find our post-box in the basement
Full Text Entry: it wasn't the dog-meat...