That's him pushing the stone up the hill, the jerk.
I call it a stone - it's nearer the size of a kirk.
When he first started out, it just used to irk,
but now it incenses me, and him, the absolute berk.
I could do something vicious to him with a dirk.[2]
Think of the perks, he says.
What use is a perk, I shriek,
when you haven't time to pop open a cork
or go for so much as a walk in the park?[3]
He's a dork.
Folk flock from miles around just to gawk.[4]
They think it's a quirk,
a bit of a lark.
A load of old bollocks is nearer the mark.
He might as well bark
at the moon -
that's feckin' stone's no sooner up
than it's rolling back
all the way down.
And what doe he say?
Mustn't shirk -
keen as a hawk,
lean as a shark[5]
Mustn't shirk![6]ObamaObamaObama
But I lie alone in the dark[7],
feeling like Noah's wife did
when he hammered away at the Ark;[8]
like Frau Johann Sebastian Bach. [9]
My voice reduced to a squawk,
my smile to a twisted smirk;[10]
while, up on the deepening murk of the hill,
he is giving one hundred per cent and more to his work.[11][12]
Footnotes