It clings to me. When I go out

it’s by my side without a doubt.

It follows when I walk about

and amble in the town.


It’s with me everywhere I go,

through rain and fog and sun and snow.

It interrupts my daily flow —

the book I can’t put down.


It hampers usage of my arm.

I wonder if I’ll come to harm.

I took it with me to the farm

and also to the loo. 


Alas I think it’s here for good.

It will not leave. I wish it would.

In case you haven’t understood:

it’s stuck with superglue.

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