“Where’s My Nose?!”


A return to some silly poetry for you…and you can also hear the poem being read by infamous Canadian actor Kerry Shale by clicking on the Box widget at the top right of the page!

“Where’s My Nose?!”

I looked behind the fridge for an entire morning,
And then I spent the afternoon searching through the awning.
I hunted through the loft and eves,
And then behind the Yucca plant’s leaves.

I called my mate Pete and asked for a hand,
He arrived with Dave and Chris who were in a band.
Between us we laboured to search the house,
And all we found was a heavily inebriated mouse.

“For Jake’s sake,” decried Pete “we’ll never find it!”
“Where was it last,” asked Chris, “can you recall even that wee bit?”

I thought long and hard, about the past day,
Where I’d been and with who, those I dare say,
Could have seen me with it, or at least have an idea,
Not originating from their rear!

And then I remembered the chap on the train,
Short and fat, lean and crisp and certainly under strain.
He’d told me a sorry tale about some cats,
Alone and bored and terrorising high rise flats.

I’d sat and listened through his sorry tale,
And when he’d finished I asked what could be done to curtail,
These annoying pussies, all noisy and wet,
Surely take them to some home for wayward pets.

“No,” he’d explained.  “They require a human nose,
For payment to their masters, the Mafia Crows.
Can I have yours, “ he then asked with aplomb…
“WHAT?” I exploded, with vim, vigour and somewhat like a bomb.
“My nose, dear sir, is mine and mine alone”
And with that I closed my eyes and ears, clearly stating “No one home”.

When I awoke at East Croydon station the chap was missing,
Along with my briefcase, my kebab and my Riesling.
But what shocked me most as it goes,
Was the fact that the cad had removed my nose.
Quite painlessly and with some style,
And he’d left me cash in payment, quite a pile.

Pete and Chris and Dave looked shocked,
Their mouths wide open their jaws firmly locked.

“So my nose isn’t lost, it’s a trophy for some Mafia Crows,
A peace offering from wet pussies in flats like those…”
I pointed through the window across the road,
In time to see a dark bird fly past under some nasal load,
Straight into a hellfire of bullets and lead,
The damp pussies tired of paying homage shot off his head!

And my nose now fell many feet to the ground,
Where it lay there for a moment safe and sound,
Until a lorry driven by killer Pandas ran it over,
On their way to help give the pussies extra cover.

“Another damn animal war, it looks like!”
“Yup.  Never seem happy those guys, hey look, it’s Mike!”

Yes, Mike, the leader of the local Tong Marmosets strolled by,
All cool and calm and no-one shot, nor even try,
And Mike picked up my flat nose and walked this way,
Like Steve Tyler in fur he confidently called out to say,
“Neil, here’s your nose, we no need it no more, OK”

And that was that, the shooting stopped and all was well.

Nice.

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About hokusbloke
30-something radio producer/director/writer, owner & MD of Ladbroke Productions (the UK's oldest independent radio production company). Lover of far fetched fiction, scifi and fantasy, my cats and all thinks tech. I am also the Chair of the Radio Independents Group, a former Trustee of the Radio Academy, and a Fellow of the RSA. I co-wrote, produced and directed Robert Rankin's "The Brightonomicon" audio series, produce Dr Who audiobooks for the BBC, and directed several sci-fi radio plays for BBC Radio 4 in 2009. I am a strong advocate for more SF audio and radio...keep watching this space for upcoming news!

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