Daily Prompt, humor, poetry, thoughts, writing

The Gong

bad poetry

After a few drinks at the club last night
We all went back to the house of Dwight
Now Dwight was a friend but not very bright
Often he seemed not unlike a dimmed light

That being said he was a good friend
So when he invited us home we did not want to offend
It was a lovely house set in the west end
And we were all drunk and happy to attend

Once we arrived Dwight offered us a tour
Honestly the place looked just like a brochure
The tour itself wasn’t that much to endure
We saw everything from the cool to obscure

In the lounge room there stood a brass gong
A gong in the lounge something must be wrong
I wondered if Dwight would break out in song
So I asked why a gong before we moved along

We didn’t move on and Dwight was not in shock
“That my friends is not a gong, but a talking clock.”
Now I don’t mind admitting I thought, “That’s a crock!”
“Let me show you how it works.” Dwight started to talk

With the padded hammer and without any warning
He slammed the big gong just as I was yawning
A voice from above could be heard a -scorning
“For fucks sake you wanker, it’s two thirty in the morning!”

3 Comments

  1. hehehe that might have been my voice, I reckon.

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