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A thumping on the stairs.
A pounding in the hall.
Suddenly music blares.
(“Pink” I think)
But I couldn’t be sure at all.
I lie atrembling in my bed,
As the kitchen kettle switches on.
Preparing myself, in my head,
To be horribly leapt upon.
Silly, but I think of the things I should have cleaned.
All the tasks I left undone.
Then I’m smothered by my own Josey Fiend,
Calling me “her loverly mum”.
Monsters should be malicious.
Demons aren’t supposed to be sweet,
But mine can be delicious,
A wickedly naughty, mischievous treat.
Nose hair plucked, moustache trimmed.
Boots polished, jodhpurs cleaned.
Hair all primped and primmed.
My adorable little Josey Fiend.
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Jack Lashbrook
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Unfinished Jack Lashbrook | Sep 15th, 2004
If this poem seems to end abruptly it's because there are several verses missing (Don't ask me why, it was complete when i sent it in)Which i will add when i can find a copy of the darned thing-grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Other verses Jack Lashbrook | Sep 17th, 2004
Some Angels come in odd disguises.
Some keep thier sweet heart secret.
Some come with hidden prizes.
Some haven't quite flowered yet.
My monster manages me.
She copes with my hard times.
Her affection is the picture of constancy.
Whatever i am, she rhymes.
I wouldn't part with my monster for money.
Unless it was more than fifty p.
She's my sweetest, honey-bunny.
And precious as chocolate to me.
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