I am a harvester of combinations.
No, not the undergarments –
that would be extremely silly.
I gather the combinations from safes and locks.
’What is the point?’
I hear you ask.
’Everybody must have a hobby.’
I reply, with a degree of certainty –
rather than the degree of uncertainty
that I normally assume.
’Weirdo!’ you throw in my direction,
with all the mockery that you can muster.
’I’m not a ’weirdo’ I’m a ’nerd’ ’
I attempt correction;
but, knock me down with a feather duster,
you have gone, and didn’f hear my response.
I sigh a sigh,
by and by,