A PARANOID POET’S IMPROBABLE POEM

He’s up and pinched me poem (he has)

He’s claimed it as his own,

He give it to his ma (he did),

‘Oo prideful showed it to his pa,

“I reckon”, says she, “We’ve got to be

Proud of the brains in this family!”

His pa he showed his mate (he did)

Who said: “ ‘Struth and bloody fate!

Your lad’s a clever coot, (he is),

This poem of his, it’s f’n beaut!

But me I ain’t no po’try expert

Let’s check it out, to be dead cert.”

So give it to our teach (they did)

(A proper, pretty peach)

Her chest it swelled wiv pride (it did),

Her bra it almost burst a-wide.

“Be Jeez,” said she as deep she breathed

“I’d never woulda this believed!”

She’s gone and showed the Head (she has)

“We’ll print it in the Mag,” he said.

On Speech Day he’ll recite”,(he said)

And then (for him) this idea bright:

“And to encourage talent we

Will give a yearly prize for po’try.”

At last the Speech Day come (it did)

The Head with voice all plum

Tells ‘em all this twaddle (he does)

Says then: “This school can be a model

Throughout our wide community

That culture’s NOT stupidity.”

A Journo’s made report (he has)

And front page placing sought.

I laugh; my piffling poem (it has)

From mole-hill now to mountain grown!

I’m tempted sore to pull the plug

And prove this spruiking mob’s a mug.

It only goes to show (it does)

What poets really know

But too polite to tell (they are)

For try they must their work to sell:

Most people if a poem hit ‘em

Would feel elsewhere for what ‘ad bit ‘em!