After Hilaire Belloc
The serial crimes of Terrence Stone
Were uttered on his mobile phone:
He murdered Quiet with disdain,
As he bawled out ’I’m on the train!’
Each day upon the eight-fifteen
He always kept the same routine:
Along the Standard Class he’d strut,
Preceded by his ample gut,
Declaiming in stentorian tone
To all and sundry on his phone;
So on he went ad nauseam,
This bigmouth didn’t care a damn
If other people were upset
By such crude lack of etiquette.
United by this daily jolt,
Commuters rose up in revolt;
They made a plan ’ he could not foil it ’
They captured Terrence in the toilet.
They tied him up with binder twine
They found beside the Brighton line,
Then wedged his mobile in his mouth
And threw him off at Bromley South.
He landed there with such a bump
He downed his mobile in a lump.
Alas, this stoppage to his breath
Resulted in his sudden death.
That’s why this story’s so absurd:
His mobile had the final word,
For at the funeral he went off in
They heard it ringing in his coffin!
1st prize ‘Writing’ Magazine’s humorous poetry competition 2012