So you woke up this morning,
And realised your shoes could use a shine,
Checked the clock only to know you’d be five minutes too late,
And made a mental plan of your day, to see if that’s fine.
John would be pissed, he needed the brief by ten,
You have seven slides and proofreading too,
“No mistakes this time,” he’d clearly said,
But look at that damn shoe.
So you decide to take the 9.13 instead of the 9.07,
And pack your breakfast in a hurry,
The gods are with you and you’ve made it to the station,
45 seconds ahead of time – no worry.
You make your way to the nearest cobbler,
With just a few seconds to spare,
You can hear him hum as he shines your shoe,
Scattering happy notes here and there.
It would be faster if he’d skipped the singing, you think,
And so you skip your thank you too,
You’re the last person to get in the train
You, and your bloody shining shoe