Fred's Little Problem




Fred’s Little Problem       by KJ Walker



Fred had a little problem

It started with an itch

He’d worn through all his trousers

Cos he’s scratching like a bitch

So he sloped off to the doctors

Crestfallen, wracked with shame

The cause of his embarrassment?

His bum……. it felt aflame.

The quack said “stick your tongue out”

“I’ll look into your mouth.”

Fred said “to find the problem”

“Start looking further south”

The doctor checked his records

He searched through all Fred’s files

He said “How do you pay for treatments?”

“With cash Sir, I’ve got piles”

“Haemorrhoids” the doctor said

An easy diagnosis

A suppository will clear them up

That, was his prognosis

“Put it in your back passage”

Which was simple, except for that

Fred didn’t have a back passage

He lived in an upstairs flat


He went home, in a state of confusion

Not sure what to do

Fred never had a back passage

Nor even an outside loo

At the back of his flat, he had a small room

Just a bit of an old cubby hole

With a vacuum cleaner, that just gathered dust

And a second hand washing-up bowl

He thought, I’ll stickt’ suppository in ‘ere

It’s like a back passage I’m sure

So he moved out the old vacuum cleaner

And placed it ont’ cubby hole floor

Well…. he left it there for three days

But his ass grapes didn’t improve

He’d always liked it, where he lived

Now, he felt tempted to move

Cos, although it was comfy and cosy

And he’d called it his home for so long

If you need to use a suppository

The layout of this place was wrong

And though he had a front hallway

With a stand for his coat, and his hat

Fred didn’t have a back passage

He lived in an upstairs flat



Now the flat just below Fred’s was empty

Since Mrs Maloney had died

And Fred kept a key, just for safety

So he used it, and ventured inside

Cos the layout of this flat was different

With it being on the ground floor

And just to the side of the kitchen

Was a passage, up to the back door

And that is where Fred placed his tablet

A back passage, although not his own

He inflated an old rubber swim-ring

And he sat down, and waited, alone

But his butt-nuggets didn’t improve none

Though he sat by the back passage door

If owt the old farmers just worsened

And he really could stand it, no more

Despair and anxiety gripped him

A fear of what was to come

He thought for what good it’s done me

I might as well of stuck it up me bum

He had followed the doctor’s orders

The only exception being that

Fred didn’t have a back passage

He lived in an upstairs flat













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kJ Walker

Sat 25th Sep 2021 08:43

This may be a re-post. I'm not sure if I've posted it on here previously or not.
This was the first poem that I ever wrote, and it amuses me to think that after writing poetry for 5 or 6 years now I haven't got any better.

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