The Mess On The Mezzanine Poem by C Richard Miles

I can't sleep for the mess on the mezzanine;
though I've cleaned from top to bottom
and the rest is clean, the mezzanine
is a bit I've simply forgotten.

Don't yell and scream that the mezzanine
is riddled with rubbish and rubble;
it's just that I'd been on the mezzanine
in the middle of a helluva muddle

and I've missed the mess on the mezzanine
although I tried to clear it
and it's hard to get to the mezzanine;
in fact I can't step near it,

for it's nowhere really, the mezzanine:
it's not at the bottom nor top
so I don't know where to start on the mezzanine
and I certainly don't know where to stop

so I've left the mess on the mezzanine
and hope it'll clear up itself
or perhaps they'll guess that the mezzanine
is really a sort of a shelf

where the mess is meant, on the mezzanine,
to stay stacked up in a heap
and, as long as they think the mezzanine
is just meant to be messy, I'll sleep.