A Battle With Irony

Isn't it funny
I swear, even the ghost of Napoleon 
would die laughing

when people say to you
your luck can change
with the force of the wind? 

but my nosey neighbours? 
two old ladies
with nothing better to do 
well they never change 

they are like the F.B.I 
and I'm talking the best part 
of nineteen years I've put up with them on this island 

always worried about my weight
and my clothes
I could be a stick insect 
and they would still find
something to offend me with

when I open the venice blinds
they're hung out their windows
dried up like prunes
they're like old laundry
that should've been taken in
weeks ago 

just staring down on me 
I swear I can feel them 
I can't help but look up
I'm always polite though...

I always say ciao 
and in return 
they do the same 
only with fake smiles 
 
and to top it all 
like sweet cherries 
on a magnificent cheesecake 
made with cream of pistachio 
and chocolate 

I open my emails each evening
hoping for an email
that isn't sent by me
to me 

there's nothing...

I still haven't received one
from the thousand  author house's 
that I send my poetry too
on an hourly basis

offering me the amazing and 
exclusive book deal
with a very generous cheque 
offered for my genius

I suspect Napoleon 
never had to put up with this shit
did he?