Mr. Gadgets
By
John
G. Sutton
He
owns just about all there is to own
And
with these makes a terrible noise
Each
Sunday morning he’s blasting the leaves
With
a blower of tornado power
Then he starts up and revs the two stroke machine
Of
his sit on and drive lawn mower
He
follows this up with a squirting device
That
shoots gallons of pressurised swill
It
sounds like the lid has come off of hell
As
he drenches the floor at his will
Then
he heats up a thing that blasts out steam
It
bubbles and gurgles and pops
He’s
cleaning the world with these gadgets
And
I just wish he would stop
He
uses a chain saw that roars as it rips
Through
anything he thinks fit
Last
week it chomped his table in half
His
furniture’s all sliced in bits
The
grinding machine he got started
Then
dropped it with throttle full on
He’s
now got two toes missing
And
half of his right foot has gone
The
sanding machine grinds away
He’s
at it from dawn till midnight
Each
and every bloody Sunday
I
really despair of this nut-case
With a gadget for this and for that
And
it’s all a waste of time really
As he lives in a fourteenth floor flat!