IT was a nothing kind of day.
But here's what I did anyway:

I heard a guy mowing his lawn.
I put my shirt and blue jeans on.

I stepped outside. A boy walked by.
I saw some clouds up in the sky.

Sat on the porch and had a smoke.
Thought about a stupid joke.

Read a book about some twat
who ate too much and whined a lot.

Did nothing, really. Stayed right here.
Went in. Ate supper. Drank a beer.

I sat around. I smoked a joint.
I wrote this poem with no point.

And if you ask I'll swear to you
that all I've written here is true.