Hot Toast - A Poem

HOT TOAST
by
Bob Williamson

When Jonathon Cooper came home from school
He started to cry and to cry.
He cried and he cried for nearly three weeks
And his mum started wondering why.

"What's a matter young John?" his mother did ask.
"Has't been caught peein' up bog wall again?
Or has Mr Kneetrembler given you't stick
For playing at darts wi' yer pen?"

"It's nothing like that mum" Jonathon said.
"It's all got to do with me willy.
We were measuring 'em in't showers like,
Just after games and mine was so small it looked silly".

"Right!" said his mum. "Down t' gypsies we'll go.
Some of them spells as we'll borra.
They'll make it go grow long right away.
You'll be tripping over the bugger tomorra".

Well next morning at gypsies John showed his complaint.
It was certainly nothing to boast.
And the gypsy first thought he's sprouted a worm
And then he prescribed John - "Hot Toast".

"Hot Toast?" said his mum. "have you gone bloody mad?
It's his willy that's lacking you twit!
Why, just look at the poor little thing hanging there.
At tea time, I've ate bigger chips!"

"It's a common complaint, Mrs Cooper" he said.
"And mostly from men don't you know.
But nature has found the best cure of them all
'Cos hot buttered toast makes 'em grow".

The next morning at breakfast young Johnny came down
And he looked like he'd just seen a ghost.
'Cos on every plate piled high up to the roof...
Were hundreds of pieces of toast.

"I can't eat all that, mum" Jonathon said
And his face it grew morbid and sad.
"That's all right luv, there's just two for you...
The rest of 'em's all for yer dad!"