There was an Old Woman who had an Infection.

There was an old woman who had an infection

I don’t know why she had an infection perhaps she had a predilection.

There was an old woman who swallowed antibiotics

She swallowed the antibiotics to kill the infection

I don’t know why she had an infection

But it paled her complexion.

There was an old woman who used an asthma puffer

The asthma came on from the antibiotics,

She took the antibiotics to cure the infection

I don’t know why she had an infection…

a bodily imperfection?

There was an old woman who took iron tablets

She took the tablets to fix her heart flutters

She got from the Puffer she took for her asthma

She got from her pills she took for her infection.

I don’t know why she had an infection

It needs circumspection.

There was an old woman who got constipated

She got this way through the iron medication

She took for her heart that was all a flutter

From the puffer she used to cure her asthma

She got from her pills she used for her infection

I don’t know why she got an infection

It needs reflection.



There was an old woman who took some laxatives

She needed to cure her constipation

She acquired from iron she took on location

To fix her annoying heart palpitations

That came from the puffer to improve aspiration

That she needed for the asthma which was the causation

That she got from the pills which were the allocation

From the doctor to fight an aggravation…

An infection which caused her much agitation...

Perhaps she just needed fumigation.

But now she feels monumental frustration

That nothing  results in exultation

And perhaps she should forget this abomination

And drown her sorrows in fermentation.

Or perhaps she’ll just die.

Pinky's Theme song for Teenage Boys

Remember the old Afroman song, "Because I got High"...

well I've rewritten the lyrics after finding a few similarities

to our household shenanigans.

I was gonna clean my room… cos it looked like a sty
I was gonna get up and find the broom… but that was a lie
my room is still messed up and I know why
- cause it was all lies, it was all lies, it was all lies.

I was gonna go to class cause I just scrape by
I coulda cheated and I coulda passed but instead I scrape by
I am taking it next semester and I know why
- cause I scrape by, cause I scrape by, cause I scrape by.

I was gonna go to work at KFC… but then I thought why?
I already had two warnings and I was just squeaking by.
now I'm always broke and I think I know why
I didn’t comply, I didn’t comply, I didn’t comply.

I was gonna go to court in my white shirt and tie
I was gonna pay my traffic fines... but then I walked by
they took my whole paycheck and I know why
I told a pork pie, told a pork pie, told a pork pie.

I was gonna obey the road rules as I drove by
I was gonna pull over and stop for the cops but I kept driving by
Now I’m only allowed to drive before ten, cause the cops saw me fly
I’m a tough guy, I’m a tough guy, I’m a tough guy.

I was gonna pay my car rego but I let it slide by
Was gonna win it at the casino but I got squeezed dry
Now the tow truck is pulling it away and I know why
- I’m a slack guy, I’m a slack guy, I’m a slack guy.

I was gonna take the rubbish out for mum to the bin nearby
I was gonna mow the lawn for Mum but my plans went awry
now my Mum’s staring at me with that look in her eye
- with the stink eye, with the stink eye, with the stink eye.

I messed up my entire life with no right of reply
I didn’t get my HSC because I didn’t try
now I’m working on the side of the road and I know why
- I didn’t apply, didn’t apply, didn’t apply.

(This may have been slightly exaggerated.)

Poem for Teachers- about Writing Reports

“Worst report I ever saw,

You’ve failed both Maths and Science, you’re

a lazy girl Pinky!” my mother shouted.

“It’s not my fault,” sour Pinky pouted

back at her mother whilst watching TV.

“It’s those stupid teachers! Don’t blame me!”

“She should try harder! Not up to par!

If Pinky tried she could go far!”

continued Mum as she read my report.

“Maybe I just need parental support…”

My mother exploded, “You silly twit!

You’ve had plenty of that, you just don’t give a sh#t!”

Many years passed and Pinky soon learned

it wouldn’t be long before the tide turned.

Her own kids would bring home a pitiful letter

reporting how they could also do so much better.

“Hagar’s not reaching his true potential.

His effort has been almost inconsequential.

If only he wasn’t so strongly attracted

To exotic things that make him distracted.”

“Padraic’s attendance has been quite appalling,

and the office ladies are sick of calling

to ask you why he's not at school,

and you make excuses like a foolto explain away his conspicuous absconding,

we are sick and tired of this corresponding

with a mother that seems to not have a clue

where her son is and what he should do.

His schoolwork seems quite vegetative

Except for his artwork, which is quite creative…”

So now my friends the worm has turned.

And it’s Pinky’s students who should be concerned.

But teachers now are so regulated

It makes our writing constipated.

When writing ‘bout our studious minions,

Teachers must hold back opinions.

We may not mention aberrations

merely state kids don’t meet 'expectations'.

We cannot say, “The boy is rude.”

It's not allowed to ever allude

To any particular bad behaviour,

and the comment bank becomes our saviour.

And now our remarks sound quite robotic

Verging on the idiotic.

I long to write what I really think

But I’d probably stir up a bit of a stink.

“Your son displays no dedication

What he really needs is medication!”

Pinky's Special Poem for the Mothers of Teenage Daughters

Lulu and Pinky back when Lulu still liked Pinky.

                       



“That’s not a skirt, it’s a handkerchief and

that top you’re wearing is beyond belief!”

yelped Pinky as her daughter walked off,

tossing her hair and turning to scoff

at an out-dated mother she’d grown to hate.

“Don’t worry Mum I won’t be late.

Don’t wait up, I’m sixteen now!

… she’ll be asleep by ten, the stupid cow…,”

muttered the daughter so Mum wouldn’t hear.

Through the blinds did Pinky peer

to catch a glimpse of her baby daughter, 

climbing into a car with someone who oughta

not have a licence by the look of their parking.

They hit the wheelie bin and the dogs are barking.

Off they drive down the empty street. 

Pinky sighs and picks from her feet

the bindis she stood on as she ran outside, 

to wave goodbye to her oh so snide

daughter who’s got better fish to fry,

than her stupid mother with the tears in her eyes.

Pinky goes back, sits with a wine

and picks up an album from a happier time

when her daughter was two and cuddling her Mummy.

… Six months old and suckling a dummy.

Her first day of school with the cheeky grin…

and the cross country race Pinky knew she’d win.

Why have things changed over the years?

Now she only wants to mix with her peers,

thought Pinky, wiping a tear from the page.

Maybe it’s me? Maybe it’s her age?

Pinky dials the phone with depressed emotion

and calls her own Mum in familial devotion.

“What’s happening Mum?” she cries to the grand dame.

Who wisely replies, “Don’t worry Pinky… you were exactly the same. 

Teenage years never go without a hitch,

Believe me Pinky, you were a right little b#tch."

Pinky's special poem for teachers.

Half eaten Easter egg

Ode for teachers.

Alarm goes off, it’s the last day of school.

Pinky sits up and wipes away the drool

From her middle-aged mouth, she’s been snoring it seems,

Loudly intruding on poor Scotto’s dreams.

One more day and it’s holiday time

Stagger to the shower, wash away the grime.

Trips on dog on the way downstairs

Shuffles outside in the pyjamas she wears

To get the paper from the dead brown lawn

She squints at the brightness of the gentle dawn.

Espying a jogger, Pinky darts behind a tree.

There is no need for a jogger to see

Pinky’s pyjamas with the hole in the a*#e.

She hides til she sees the jogger pass.

Back inside for her first caffeine hit

Without that coffee she feels like sh#t.

Swears at drivers on way to school

Why does she always get in front of the fool

Who drives a big truck and sits on her tail

With a honking horn and arms that flail?

Arrives at school, colleagues full of glee

Only six more hours and they’ll all be free.

“We’ve eggs for you Miss!” the children shout

One of the eggs has a bite taken out.

By one o’clock the teachers feel grand

As they all know after school drinks are planned.

The girls will be heading to Shazza’s place

Where no doubt they will all get off their face.

With only one hour left of school to go

There’s a disco in the shed for the kids and so

Pinky does the chicken dance, and grooves to the beat

Til she gets puffed out and has to sit on a seat.

Like Gabriel’s trumpet we hear the bell ring,

P#ss off kids! The teachers sing

Under their breath so no one can hear

Why did we pick a teaching career?

Is it all for the kids and their learning we wish to raise?

Don’t be bloody stupid…it’s the holidays!!!!



# I don’t really mean that, I love teaching the rugrats.

The egg in the photo was actually presented to my colleague, Rach and had indeed been bitten in to.