Snot, bogey, luge, luger, buger; its aliases are many, but even in its brief life there can be found the hands of fate, pathos, and drama.
This is my first attempt at poetry in, well, decades. It is written in a style vaguely reminiscent of Roald Dahl. It isn’t pleasant, and I’m not sure if it’s even good, but for whatever it is worth this poem is mine, even if it takes courage to own.
I believe you have had sufficient warning, please proceed at your own risk, as no responsibility will be accepted for any distress, emotional or mental, that is caused by the reading of this piece. Comments, and critique, are welcome. For your delectation: I hope you enjoy:-