Like Poseidon with a chip fork

He's washed up (at Aldeburgh town)

No vinegar - he's bitter enough

Know-all coward in his dressing gown

 

Found a cheap place to put his big fat head

Jukebox blaring every night

Full English each & every morning

Will surely be served right

 

Sea sky see 50 shades grey

Just like his sex life there

Aging man in old village

Remaining suave and debonair

 

Eats smoked herring with his fingers

From a white paper bag

No lemon - he's bitter enough

Rhyme schemes are such a drag

 

Just give him one sonnetto

Objectivation is verboten

His poetry's careering downhill

And needs a pie from Godin