The Poet takes the lectern, he flicks his golden mane,
“This is one I wrote last year, but I’m reading just the same,
It concerns bad politicians and a bloody, bloody war,
And you there, man who’s leaving, make sure you close the door!
This is a serious poem, so madam, please don’t laugh,
It’s in my latest collection, it certainly isn’t naff,
So please be concentrating and lending me your ears,
And when I’ve finished reading we’ll go and get some beers!”
He clears his throat, he tilts his head, gets ready to recite,
Ignoring front-row hecklers, who shout: “Get off, you’re shite!”
The poem it is ready, he opens up his lips,
And strikes a suitably jaunty pose from Goodbye Mr Chips.
“The war in Vietnam,” he says, “Was bloody, bold and long.
You’ve been a lovely audience, goodbye, thanks and so long!”