Last Supper

A typical Northern way to go
It's a story I'm sure we all know
Arriving home rather pissed
He curses the curry he missed
Our hero puts on the fat
And sits down with the dog and the cat
There's no smoke alarm to bleep
In five minutes he's fast asleep
He's happy sleeping here
After fifteen pints of beer
The flames and fumes creep higher
In a traditional chip pan fire.

The kitchen is soon all ablaze
But he'll never see the error of his ways
The cat gets out of the flap
The dog's stuck in the death-trap
And when the brigade do arrive
The cat's the only thing still alive
The radio is still going strong
Playing his favourite song
Soon the blue flashing light
Just fades away into the night
From his supper to his pyre
In a traditional chip pan fire.

Pete Lancaster

If you've any comments on his poem, Pete Lancaster would be pleased to hear from you.
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