Skunk Weed (In Praise of sweaty socks)

von Marcus Krug

In Bangkok nobody cared what I’d backpacked.

I hoped that in Dublin it wouldn’t be checked.

That they’ll find out about the weed,

Is the reason why I’m so afraid.

And yet it happens, the guy in customs insists.

But open the backpack, I don’t.

Then the sniffer dog comes, since their claim still persists.

So keep the backpack closed, I won’t.

The smell of the content crazy him drove,

Like a pot of shit on a heated kitchen stove.

And soon you can see the repellent effect,

Of smelly laundry which they’d love to neglect.

The dog’s nose wrinkles, even his hind legs give in,

The smell is too strong for the dog ‘n my kin.

No one dares to touch, so the weed isn’t found,

Too strong the smell, which makes the dog spin around.

Then they take him away and say “No offence!”

So I still have the weed which was sewn int’ my pants.