Hebdominal Hell

A poem with echoes of the classic Flanders and Swann song The Gasman Cometh, although in Max's poem it is the postman who is delivering increasingly unlikely parcels as the week progresses.


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Post Haste
Christmas Post

Seven Days of Deliverance

Early Monday morning, the postman rang my bell,
Delivery for Mr Scratchmann, your computer stuff from Dell.

Early Tuesday morning the postman hammered on my door,
Morning, Max, he chirruped, here’s the boards for your new floor.

Early Wednesday morning, he shook me rough from sleep,
You knitting a new jumper, Max?  Look, I’ve brought your sheep!

Early Thursday morning he rattled my old latch,
Get out and fix your leaky roof, I’ve brought your brand new thatch!

Early Friday morning he just threw me from my bed,
Here’s you pet iguana, Max, I think the bugger’s dead!

But on Saturday I was ready, up quite early and awake,
When the postman handed to me a three-pillared wedding cake.

So on Sunday I was tired and quite ready to sleep in,
When his voice cried, Overtime, Max, where do want this wheely bin.

Copyright © Max Scratchmann. All Rights Reserved

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