Learning to Pout

A little boy sat on the train:
He counted sheep inside his brain,
He kicked his feet he tapped his pen,
His mother shooshed him once again.

He pled: “it’s hot! I need some air!”
A fellow passenger despaired.
Mum she grumbled, up she stood:
“The window’s open now be good!”

Thick the stench of summer weed;
The shallow pools of seas recede
by Sandymount, the fetid airs
did swirl about for all to share.

The boy contrite he knew the time
had come from down his plinth to climb.
“Oh mum, oh everyone, this slime!
This grime, this time the fault is mine!

“I will be still I’ll be no pest,
the upstart kid you all detest!
Let’s all relax and let us rest
and close the windows, for the best.”

One passenger he raised a brow.
Another smirked, and chortled: “Now,
how gullible you think we are?
Besides, for us, this is no scar.”

“The beauty of our nature’s world,
The many scents it has unfurled,
Let us bask in this here portal,
Mother nature’s breath immortal!”

Mum she sat and coughed a laugh,
This experiment so naff.
Our boy he sat and made a pout,
Folded his arms, and kicked at nowt.