.



                         1

          This isn't the first time
          I fling a rehearsed rhyme
               Like simian excrement at you.
          I'll beg your indulgence
          With scraping effulgence
               (It worked for me last time) - will that do?



                         2

          I'll tell it concisely,
          Completely, precisely,
               As much as the verse will permit it.
          I'll sign this confession
          Of my indiscretion
               If you make the punishment fit it.



                         3

          So this is my offer
          The olive I proffer
               Or, if you prefer, the whole tree branch.
          I know it was heinous
          But my misdemeanours,
               This instance, at least, were complete chance.



                        4

          I was tardy, and fretting
          At not vaporetting
               In time for my lecture on Byron
          Say, are you familiar
          With Byronic milieu?
               If not, I advise you to try some.



                        5

          I'd not have exerted
          My legs till they hurted
               For five minutes' more economics
          Because most economists
          Tend to be onanists
               Frankly, it pains my colonics.



                         6

          Anyway, as I scampered
          My hastening hampered
               By backpackers raptured by glass bowls--
          Each day it's a struggle
          To break through the huddle
               Of slow-moving, snap-shooting arseholes.



                         7

          Dear Lord, would it kill you
          To keep right, and will you
               Just once cross a bridge without stopping?
          You corpulent vandals
          Who wear socks with sandals
               And rate the place based on its shopping.



                         8

          And worship the pigeon
          You bow in submission
               And welcome a birdy submersion
          You-- sorry. Where was I?
          Rialto. Because I
               Was just rounding up my diversion.



                         9

          So, the campo before it
          (I'm certain you saw it)
               Is one where the daytripper loiters
          To browse porno cravattes
          And similar knick-knacks
               About which I don't give a coitus,



                         10

          Like fascist pyjamas
          And kitsch panoramas
               It's not worth my breath to belittle
          But, cutting a swathe through
          (You have to be brave to)
               I-- wait. I'll digress just a little.



                         11

          Now, while exercising
          Or Staying Alive-ing
               Until you feel sweaty (and smell it)
          Your phone in your pocket
          (If you didn't lock it)
               Can do things that you didn't tell it.



                         12

          And my phone's malicious,
          Ill-tempered, and vicious,
               For instance, that time in December
          Without any warning
          At three in the morning
               It called you. I guess you remember.



                         13

          And so, while in via
          To San Zaccaria,
               Provoked by my perambulation
          It dialled your number
          Defiled your slumber
               It called you - and you were awakened.



                         14

          I'll hesitate briefly
          To stress it was chiefly
               The mobile's fault. I'll repeat it:
          My phone's role was massive
          My own role was passive
               Let punishment duly be meted.



                         15

          It might appear shameful
          To shift all the blame to
               Defenceless inanimate plastic.
          Although, to be honest,
          Who's writing this? John is.
               I can't be at fault. I'm fantastic.



                         16

          But what I'm imputing
          By these highfalutin
               Pretensions doth not me embiggen.
          The only thing worse is
          I've used sixteen verses
               (So far) to express my contrition.



                         17

          And so I commend them
          To you. You may lend them
               To all who love words more than action
          This verse, though, is wrapped up
          My muse has been slapped up
               I hope to your full satisfaction.




.