Charlie’s back, well, sort of. All these poems are old. i always have a fuss before i post them, but the bulk is done. Feeling in a Charlie mood so here you go.
In this poem, Charlie, strapped for cash, takes a job as a man in a dinosaur suit, to sell paper towels.
The Wipeosaurus Rex
O Charlie, am’s hit the bost leg bottom
needing of spongles tiremuchly bad
: the rent to pay, his measly shopping bill.
& so’s to trouble his trouble him’s
became a damson jigging dinosaur
promoting papery towels to the morn-mascaraed moms
without nuffin’ much else to be done but shop
(ignominy, a word beyond, y’know…
—acute vocab for he’s feel).
Outside Tesco Express
— he is the Wipeosaurus-Rex.
Of late him took it fond
a puffin’ on the cigarettes No1s, when breaking from stuff.
A young boy green of eye (like Smarties)
—whom in the park afore him saw,
approached him sat behind the wheelie bins
& said: you do not need to go through this…
walking away hunched sad beyond
allowance of his years for Charlie Wiposaurus-Rex.
& thinking Charlie the understand to get it less sad & knowledge…
He was late back for working
n’ can’t find his job.