What I want to be when I grow up

Ok, I was a great stand up comedian

Where the venue is brilliant and bright,

Where the audience is like a sea.

 

Ok, when I take my stand

Smiling faces I would see,

Scent of perfume floating on the stage

Hitting me like glasses of cane rum,

Doubling and trebling my words.

 

Ok, why I really wanted to be a comedian

Is to expose the grit underneath the carpet,

Is to let people forget depression,

Forget about all the bad clouds,

Let people laugh, stamp their feet

            and weep.

 

Who would listen to my gritty jokes?

 

Ok, mothers, fathers, grandparents

            from every walk of life.

Wherever I go they would follow

For my jokes are like a puff of smoke.

 

How would I tell my jokes?

 

Ok, I would talk about my Uncle

Who ran off and leave his pants behind.

 

I would talk about my Aunt

Who ran a mile in her birthday clothes

And became the talk of the town.

 

I would talk about how my Grand who

Paid hundreds of pounds for her dentures

Wear them in her pocket instead.

 

I’ll have the audience crying and asking for more:

It’s never to late for a shower of rain

Said the men of olden days.

 

Joy Swaby

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