I want my cradle to be rocked,

Slalom through my childhood,

Search- within at University,

Discover mediocrity,

And return to the slalom-ing

Between pillar and post

Sometimes dipping my head

In small puddles of filthy water

Jerking it out

Groping for that fresh air

Then slalom again

Zig to the zag and back

Until, I reach a point

When age and lust

Both in ample quantity

Can provide enough sustenance

For me to write my story

And fix myself to a small house

Under a tree high enough to shade a grave

Bereft of my body

But testament to the fact

That whence the slalom finished

The man decided to rest hither!