by Pat Tiger
A’m sitting ‘ere in mi Blackpool deckchair
Flask an’ cream crackers tucked under mi feet.
A quick smoke fer now but maybe later
Some er that candy floss – just fer a treat.
‘Ave fetched mi wireless – can’t miss two thirty
A quid each way on that young day tripper.
If ‘am in wi luck at York then likely
I’ll pay fer a go on yon big dipper.
Seein’ as it’s warm a’ll tek off mi waistcoat
Can’t wait fer look on them young uns faces.
They’ll ‘ave a reyt laugh when a’m parading
Mi’ brand new yellow an’ red striped braces.
Off wi mi cap – now where’s mi clean ‘ankie?
I need it to stop mi getting sun stroke.
‘Ave thought about inventer er tissues
I reckon he must be a reyt daft bloke.
It’s folk such as ‘im that’s angling fer change
Sure as eggs is eggs he’d not be seen dead
Wi’ flimsy Kleenex, knotted in corners
Just try keeping one er them on yer ‘ed!!!
Pat Tiger writes short stories and poetry.
The Pygmy Giant 