It’s nivver easy being a poet
fra Yorkshire, wi an accent set to confuse
‘do ya like talkin’ wippets?’ Nah, forgedd it
let’s hit the booze;
no longer bothered by any rhymes, hooray’s or boo’s.
But Larkin, Armitage, Harrison, they upset
t’establishment - summat like Ted Hughes -
by spoutin’ swear-words in a sonnet
(even in a luv sonnet)
using bar and bitter as their muse.
A genie fra t’coal-hole’s what ya get.
No wonder Friday night’s the night to booze.
It’s reet ‘ard graftin’ as a Yorkshire poet;
done now and I’m off to turn to booze.