My Bid To Become Poet Laureate

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Some of you may remember, that driven by the sheer boredom of lockdown, I started to write some poetry. I posted one or two here but did actually write a few more which never got to see the light of day. I happened across them just this morning so thought I'd share this one with you. It's called 'Early Night Fright' and is about the perils of being boring and going to bed early on your birthday. Voices in the night Wake me from my bed Did I really hear them Or are they in my head Maybe they are remnants Of my fevered dreaming Or maybe burglars broke in And are downstairs scheming Reaching for the golf club I keep beneath my bed Remembering I don't play golf Find my cricket bat instead Sneaking down the stairs Trying not to make a sound Peeping round the corner Voices getting very loud Realising I'm in the nude Doesn't help my plight Naked man with cricket bat Must make a sorry sight Plucking up my courage And jumping out quite smartly Everybody yells "Surprise! Welcome to your party" Apparently the poet laureate gets partially paid in sherry. When the job offer comes my way, which it undoubtedly must, I think I'll ask if they can swap it for Newcastle Brown Ale.