The Medical

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The Medical

There's snow on the hills
And I've taken my pills.
The psychiatrist thinks me quite sane.
The pigs in the sky,
Yes I know they can't fly,
But they're taking a test just the same.

The voice in my head
That is never quite dead,
Is singing a sad kind of ditty.
I try to write songs
Yet they come out all wrong,
All clangers and smash, more's the pity.

I've got an IQ
Of a hundred and two,
Which puts me, ahead of a half-wit.
I'm friends with the Queen
And my washing machine,
But give me a dollar, I'd halve it.

I live on the moon
With an ageing baboon
Who is wanted in five different countries.
My favourite meal
Is strawberry peel
Which I harvest each autumn from plum trees.

The doc's here again.
She insists, I am sane.
She has the last laugh, no disputing.
The stupid old lush,
I'm as daft as a brush.
Speak to my grandma, Rasputin.

Tick-Tock, round the clock,
I need a new frock.
Tear drop, splobalop, I am barmy.
Boogaloo bongos,
Dingos and drongos,
I don't want to play in your army.

14 Comments on “The Medical

  1. I do like the idea of pigs doing a flying test! πŸ˜€ The end of the poem reminds me of Catch-22. Have you read it? Wanting out of the army but, by wanting to be proved insane, you show that you’re sane.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. what terrific fun this one is; a cavalcade of cavorting conumdrums; a nebula of nonsense — now it’s affecting me πŸ™‚ but seriously I can see the work you’ve put into this, Hobbo, so respect !

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Ah, feels so surreal and Carroll. I’m drawn right in to this cyclone of half-realities. Definitely one for my chap book, will have to have a chapter for just your works, I imagine.

    Liked by 1 person

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