 |
|
| Home | |
|
Welcome |
| Contents | |
| Poems | |
| Dandie Dinmots | |
| Fun Stuff | |
| Yesterday | |
| Photography | |
 |
Poems |
|
|
 |
|
|
Monday Monday | |
| I woke up this morning, had
it been earlier I’d still been late, And if I’d of had all
of my senses, I’d still been in a hellova state. |
||
| The bell was ringing, the cat was
screeching, I was yelling too As I somersaulted down the stairs,
it was like the war cry of the Sioux. Pictures fell from off the wall and cascaded down the stair, Now profanity is not my speciality, but I found the time to swear. Lying in a crumpled heap upon the debris strewn floor, I screamed at my persistent caller, “Geese a chance to open the door!” I cleared the debris out of the way and unbolted the front door, I met my caller face to face and said, “Now son, what’s the score?” “I’ve a postcard sent without a stamp, there’s thirty pence to pay.” I took the card and read it and realised to my dismay, The bloody thing was not for me, it was for the house next door, I looked the postie straight in the eye, and then I really swore. |
||
| He stood there with
his jaw agape, the postcard in his hand. Whilst I berated every postie that ever walked this land. A few people started to gather round, it soon became a crowd, Some just stood there sniggering, whilst others laughed out loud. I was warming to my audience, really getting in the mood. And like a thunder flash it hit me, I had been sleeping in the nude. The fall had broken the tie cord that kept closed my dressing gown. Have you ever tried to be irate when exposing parts the sun can’t brown? I snatched that fateful postcard, to sort of cover my retreat. While two policemen appeared from nowhere to move the crowd along the street. The postie backed by the boys in blue was going to have his say. He yelled at me through the letter box, “There’s still thirty pence to pay!” |
||
Presented by my world wide readership for the best non-nominated Oscar performance |
|
|
| Monday Monday (Audio) |
