…to a Small Lump of Blue Paper I Dropped Somewhere Odd One Midsummer Morning.

(otherwise known as a series of emails I sent to my wife in rhyme, bemoaning having misplaced my passport today as I went to renew it.)

Caution… Horrible Vogon Poetry ensues.

Email The First.

My passport, my passport… where could it be?
It’s not in the car on my desk or on me,
nor my laptop bag, drawers or the floors,
wedged in my trousers or those of a horse.
I hope I have dropped it on table or chair
and the kids are now playing with it – combing their hair?
Or else i may blow a fuse and decree
that travel, quite simply, just isn’t for me.

Email The Second (in which one is asked if one checked on the floor)

I’ve checked on the floor but I’ll check again… no.
It’s not there! I do swear! Which is really just so…
annoying. I can’t begin to tell how
when I try to work I can’t concentrate now
because somewhere, somewhere, this document lies
hiding in secret or ‘neath wide open skies
but try as I might I can’t see it about

so I must shortly go home, turn the house inside out
and hopefully..? Finally..? Find it and then
wait til tomorrow just to try this again

Email The Third

Now i feel silly and less than poetic
when after checking my car it’s pathetic
that my passport fell out down the side of the chair
to the car’s seat belt buckle and got hidden in there.
It’s a good end to the story, i suppose, for I’ve been
sillier before (ask the washing machine).
So two points can be made from my silly mistake:
Things don’t disappear. Remember that well.
And the second’s quite like it, though harder to take:
Losing stuff’s easy, finding it’s hell.

I promise never to do that again 😉

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