Monday, 9 January 2012

Tw*t

Poor Michael is not of the brightest, God wot;
And alas, he is not the most diligent swot;
Though he turns up to play-group almost on the dot,
And can just about drop a coin into a slot,
Or say how he likes the old Bible a lot,
Or read something simple or wash up a pot,
Or hit a barn door if he fires enough shot,
And is continent sometimes while out of his cot,
There are so many things that he just hasn't got,
Like a thought for the welfare of many a tot,
Or a teen whose job prospects are not very hot;
No matter how many the kids you've begot,
And whether he's lied or has just lost the plot,
Deary me, deary me, what-ho and what-what,
Poor Michael's been saying the thing that was not.

© Philip Challinor

Careers service and literacy hit by schools funding cuts

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Weblog: The Curmudgeon - You'll come for the curses. You'll stay for the mudgeonry.
Books: Philip Challinor's Books

2 comments:

  1. Great little poem. Love the humor in this slice of life.

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  2. Love this, music to a teacher's ears. PS he is what my head would call a 'twit' with an 'a'.

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