Bad Day Poem by Dan Brown

I’m having a bad day already,
and I’ve only just rolled out of bed.
It’s far too late,
the room’s a state,
and my hair looks a rabbit shot dead.

Much worse than this, though,
in fact, ten times as bad.
I’ve lost my shirt,
my backside hurts,
and I don’t know the name of this lad!

Order should restore, though,
when I get back home and write.
Obviously not,
I’ve got writer’s block,
and I can only think of last night!

This really, really upsets me,
for my poetry is my castle.
The words won’t come,
I’m such a bum,
and that lad wasn’t worth the hassle.

Everything I do complete,
I read with utter disdain.
I rip it apart,
go back to the start,
and I still can’t remember his name!

This is, indeed, a very bad day,
can I start it all over again?
I know I can‘t,
But I certainly shan’t
be sleeping with random men.