Flynn's Ass
Become a
Premium Member
and post notes and photos about your poem like Tom Cunningham.
Pat Flynn and his ass live in Inchicore
Pat lives in the house with the bright red door
The ass drinks stout but let me tell you more
He won the the gold cup in 'eighty four.
Flynn went to the race's to place a bet
Got chatting to people he'd only just met
They thought with Flynn they'd have the craic
And put hot chillies' in the ass's sack.
He munched and chewed and ate the lot
The chillies' took hold, he was off like a shot
He crashed through the fence, up went the wire
He needed a drink his mouth was on fire.
He took the lead, the crowd were on their feet
The ass was gasping and dying from the heat
One more lap to go he was still ahead
Flynn was worried that he'd drop down dead.
He crossed the line the crowd did roar
The ass carried on then fell to the floor
Flynn rushed over with a glass of stout
And poured it down the ass's mouth.
He soon recovered and to this day
Has a bottle of black stuff with his hay
His mouth's still hot the heat never died out
And that's why Flynn's ass likes his stout.
Written 25th November 2017
Copyright © Tom Cunningham | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment