What's wrong with me?

I haven't got a phobia, an -algia or a hernia,

nor yet a simple complex to bewail so they can cure yer.

My feet were pretty grotty once but they've been chopped and changed,

I'm really fully better - though the dog is quite deranged.

So when the general boasting starts I just sit still and stumm

and listen while the whinges go cavorting round the room.

I shake my head and smile and tut and quietly sip my tea

because I never ever can decide: what is there wrong with me?

© Sheila Rogers

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