I copy this because I very much like it as a poem. In addition I list it to celebrate the demise of the Queen’s English Society. We shall no longer be pestered by people who still grieve for the days when they collected car numbers and cigarette cards, and who have spent years telling us where to put an apostrophe.
Sweet Hernia on the heights of Plasticine
Sings to the nylon, songs of brassier.
I see the bloom of mayonnaise she holds
Coloured like roofs of far away Shampoo.
Its asthma sweetens earth, ah it enfolds
The alum lands from urine to cachou.
One last wild gusset and she’s lost to sight
As dusk the dandruff dims, and anthracite.