To children, who are sore afraid
That night-time ghosts will get them:
Fear not, the monsters who will eat
Your brains at night won’t let them.
Ghosts and goblins, ghouls and trolls
From these we can’t protect you.
We’re going to the Rose and Crown,
We’re going to get wrecked. You
Might just want to lock the door.
Me and your dad will be back about four.
The Monster In My Wardrobe
There are monsters in my wardrobe
When I draw my curtains.
The aliens with the anal probe
Are lurking there, I’m certain.
The zombies and the vampires too
Are waiting where I put my shoes.
But the thing that makes my poor blood freeze
Are my ’80s stone-washed dungarees.
For more rubbishy old poems that are a bit wrong try this.