Made some coffee
Ate my toast and
Munched some Weetabix
Turned on Radio 4 quite loud
And heard the News at Six
Scraped my hair back
With a comb
And coiled it in a bun
Oh, and ....
... Popped into the downstairs loo
To do a 'number one'
Then I sorted paperwork
And buttoned up my jacket
Heard a 'thump' and knew right then
my mailbox held a packet.
Rushed to see and found instead
An unexpected letter
Addressed by hand, so not a bill,
But, clearly, something better
I'm on the floor now, feeling weak,
Its message hits me hard
Sir Ian Blair is telling me
He's leaving Scotland Yard
My job, as well, has been erased
And will I please go in
To clear my desk into a bag
And take it to the bin.
I've worked for years within the Met
But murder's on my mind
I kick the cat, my cherished pet, an action so unkind
Why have I done this awful thing ?
I've got to quit the Poliss
And it's too much to bear right now :
Since moggie's name is Boris
The End