I am writing a short series of poems based around former colleagues at a courier firm. titles include the above, 'Which Way Ray' and 'Clip Curb Carol'.

Hanging Harry

Hanging Harry was a courier man, delivered parcels in a van
Every parcel every part, but all day from trousers he did fart
Every time he opened his door a grey mist moved from van to floor
Nobody would sit on his chair, because of a living stain on there
As he walked to our floor we had to open all windows and door
If he was ever off sick if you went round, you’d drawn shortest stick
And when he opened hid door, fart powered kids flew across the floor
Even his dog made her pitch, all over the carpet the filthy bitch
What a future we all faced, working with such toxic waist
Any food he would fry it, told him to go on a cork diet
At his wits end he was overcome, stuck a cork up his bum
All was well until just after dark, blew himself across Trafford Park
Lost his job but he’s doing just fine, he’s the power supply for a turbine


© Phil Golding

Hilarious.

Magi, Nic and Courtney.

XXX

Well done Phil