A New Pome

Why can't modern poetry rhyme? I simply can't read and enjoy it, so I no longer bother trying.

Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish that man would go away (Hughes Mearns 1875 - 1965)

I told my wife about the ghost
Over tea and breakfast toast
She looked at me the way they do
And then, as must, her gasket blew.

She shot back that “It’s not the ghost
Who’s now annoying me the most”
And thundered with red face aglow
“We’re living in a bungalow!”

Now all of you who take a drink
Before you speak, just stop and think
And only speak when spoken to
But never broach a topic new.

Footnote: I discovered last night (23rd Feb) that this "pome" was actually read on air by Pat Kenny last week. I didn't hear it myself but I'm sure he delivered it with the sensitivity it merits. I'll have to start writing to Rattle Bag. Does anyone have Seamus Heaney's number?