Monty the sheepdog mongrel
Embarks on his mission
To torment the youths
Kimbo Saby
Stands there waiting
To call the sound of a foghorn
Late for her appointment
At the solarium yet again.
John Bon Jovi
At number 64
Shares his bullshit
Amongst the estate
Claiming glory to his idol
Miss Russelle
The Russian Doll
Burns the clutch of her 205
In a drive by
Whilst giving the neighbours two fingers
Isolating herself from us
The stench of stale mothballs
Deters our visitors
Let alone the local moggy
My father is not a cat lover
And Cath Clinks
Sells her stale goods
Will we pay the price?
She doesn’t own
This years calendar
5: 45 draws the escapades
And curtains to a close
Until tomorrow at 5pm
I do love a good nose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem