Last week a man I vaguely know, I shall call him Bert, had a bonfire at the bottom of his garden in a local town. He was justly proud of the leaping flames, the warm hands and the saving of fossil fuels (and thus by default the planet) by sending less weight in the dustcart. However (in his words, not mine) his sandal-wearing, environmentally aware, non-deodorant using, hairdresser-avoiding, hairy-armpitted neighbour, apparently viewed his actions slightly differently…
Neighbour Ms Brown needs to calm down,
Or she’ll self-ignite!
She’s just so upset with
scorched winceyette,
“Because it’s not right!”
She’s disturbing the peace will call the police,
Because of his fire.
He’s keeping warm while she’s in full swarm,
“Shall I add a tyre?”
She will self-immolate
she’s been very tense of late,
“Global Warming,” she cries!
His rubbish now burnt he has now learnt,
To keep smoke from his eyes!
A ‘friend of the earth’ nosey council jobs-worth,
Gives him a warning!
He’ll take no heed of official tumbleweed,
Will now burn early morning!
© Baldock Bard 2013
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