So as I said in yesterday’s sonnet
Or at least in its title anyway
It’s good to get back home, a cosy fit
When you’re food-poisoned, shitting night and day
Not in that crummy flat where I had stayed
In Aberdeen. No wonder it was cheap
Location good, but nothing worked, sticky
Floor, loud neighbours just when you try to sleep
Grateful my illness waited, didn’t seep
Out of my bottom while still doing tourist
Stuff up in Scotland, draining energy
Soiling clothes in a car where I don’t keep
Replacement underwear, cos I don’t shit
Myself normally. Being home is it!!
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