This language that sits upon my shoulder

and skiddadles 

when aproached,

has a  vicarious sense of humour

where, from behind

a previous thought,

it shouts the punch line of my next joke.

 

And, when I'm about to hear the following

instruction from a leaflet

seriously written,

It crouches, looking,

at me and the page

and back to me,

then whispers an incongruity of meaning

and I have to repeat

its  prescription.

 

Sometimes upon retiring I find

that it dresses

in my somnambulant

attire,

holding court and playing jazz

or funk,

when I thought I had finnished

partying for the night.