MACHETE
I knew a man once
He lived in my street
His name I tend to forgetti,
When he ate food
His habits were crude
He just sucked all day on spaghetti.
He wasn't very clean
He whiffed a bit
Sort of a cheesy hum and sweaty,
Now his lovely wife
Suffered this strife
I think her name was Betty.
He never washed his hair
All greasy and lank
Dandruff fell like confetti,
He drove a battered old car
Pretending to be a formula one star
Like James Hunt or Mario Andretti.
He hardly ever worked
And holidays were rare
Usually a day trip to Pwllheli,
He slobbed about all day
On the sofa he lay
Watching the rubbish on the telly.
One day he was gone
He departed this world
Freedom at last for poor Betty,
She was just like a slave
So, when he wanted a shave
She cut off his head with a machete.
Phil Hall January 2014
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