Ken's Poetry

Didgeridoo

A didgeridoo is a funny thing,
It doesn’t play and it doesn’t sing,
it doesn’t work by bow or string

one end must rest upon the floor,
it’s hard to get it through the door
and people wonder what it’s for.

The other end goes between lips,
it has no holes for fingertips,
is much too big to take on trips.

The masters of this thing are such
they don’t comb hair or wash that much,
they have a hippy kind of touch,

have tangles in their greasy hair,
an attitude of ‘couldn’t care’,
they stand about and stare .. and stare,

wear ear and nose rings all the time
and talk in rhythm and in rhyme,
their fingernails are filled with grime.

At last, if you believe the hype,
they open mouths, insert the pipe
and blow a raspberry, rich and ripe,

and sounds of indigestion rise
unexplained by the most wise …
quite musical to my surprise.