The Obstructionist

My name is Michael Millington,
Professor of Obstruction,
I’d better point out what that means,
By way of introduction.

I’ll set the scene – its Christmas Eve,
And town is black with shoppers,
Tobacco sellers dodge and duck,
Evading nosy coppers.

Carol singers block the street
In festive celebration,
You barge your way into the crowd
In quiet desperation.

You have to get some soap for Mam,
A shirt for Uncle Billy,
And don’t forget the sheep-dip for
Your mad old Auntie Millie.

You’re weaving here, you’re swerving there,
Avoiding a collision,
When, coming out of HMV,
You make the wrong decision.

For you step left when he steps right –
You’re in the same position!
Like Sumo wrestlers squaring up
Before a competition.

So you step right and he steps left –
You can’t make the correction,
As if you’re looking in a mirror
At your own reflection.

After two or three attempts,
You’re starting to get harassed.
And so he stops and waves you on,
Bright-blushing and embarrassed.

You giggle lightly, walk on by,
And all your cares are banished.
You turn around to watch him go,
But magically, he’s vanished.

‘Twas me, the great obstructionist,
From mundane matters plucked,
To put a smile upon the face
Of those whom I obstruct.

It is a service I provide,
My standards are improving,
Just fax me in a photograph
Of whom you want stopped moving.

I tour around the country
Giving lectures on obstruction,
And anyone attending can
Avail of a reduction.

The population’s going up,
Despite the world recession,
In busy streets, there’ll be a need
For men of my profession.

The overheads are very small,
It only takes a minute.
The only disadvantage is
There’s not much money in it.

So, next time that your path is blocked,
Remember it’s my job,
Just reach your hand into your purse,
And slip me a few bob.