I found this nasty little rhyme lurking amongst my unpublished poems, and rather than have it rubbing up against my classier work – or maybe to prove, yet again, that I have no shame – I’m posting it:

If you wanna make a livin’ from sellin’ stuff
you’re likely to discover that the competition’s tough,
so let me recommend that you specialise –
and here’s an additional piece of advice:
if you’re gonna sell kidneys and eyes from donors
get signed agreements from the spare-part owners –
and a couple o’ tips I learned a little too late;
be cautious when selecting their final fate
and don’t take their organs before they are dead;
Mum was vexed to encounter Grandpa Fred
with gaping holes where his twinklers used to be
when she took up his mornin’ cup of tea.

But if your best-laid plans don’t go so well
There’s a spare cot squattin’ my prison cell.

©Jane Paterson Basil