Just Where You Left It... and Other Poems. David Roche

fault, it’s obvious, and ha!, I’ve just proved it.”

      “You’ve got me. I’m guilty. Arrest me. But wait…

      What’s that, where you left it, right under your plate?”

      So how do mums do that? They have a sixth sense

      For locating my iPhone or an old fifty pence.

      It’s the same for our dad too. If he needs the remote,

      He just asks our mum and it’s Murder She Wrote…

      “If you got off your backside and looked under the couch,

      It’s there, where you left it, now mow the lawn.” Ouch.

      There must be a cheat way that mums win our deference.

      They hide stuff, and map it, then learn the grid reference.

      They memorise items and their hidden location,

      Then have all the answers, like it’s their vocation.

      “That’s right, you believe that while you’re all away,

      We’re just where you left us, doing nothing all day.”

      Could Do Better

      It’s the end of term and the school report

      Fills me with cynicism.

      In the olden days they’d tell you straight;

      Now it’s a euphemism.

      You’ve got to learn the secret code

      (They don’t want to contravene

      The Teachers’ Charter), so you must translate

      To know what they really mean.

      For example, they have to describe a child

      Even if they don’t know them from Adam.

      If your child is labelled a “natural leader”,

      That means they’re a right bossy madam.

      If they “contribute well to class discussion”,

      You mustn’t get cut up.

      If they’re “keen to share opinions”,

      It just means they won’t shut up.

      If your child is called “creative”,

      That just means they are a liar.

      If they’re “dynamic” and “independent”,

      Their concentration will be dire.

      If “active and enthusiastic”,

      Don’t expect a master’s degree;

      The letters that should go after their name

      Are probably ADHD.

      “Animated” means disruptive.

      A “solitary child” has nits.

      “Willing to help” can only describe

      A brown-noser, if truth permits.

      “A pleasure to teach” means no trouble.

      “Easily upset” means spoilt rotten.

      If they’ve “enjoyed the social side of school”,

      Class Clown is the name they have gotten.

      If he “enjoys all PE activities”,

      Then he’s deffo a violent thug.

      If she “expresses herself confidently”,

      She’s cheeky, a smartarse and smug.

      “Animated” equals disruptive.

      “Articulate” is quite a feat,

      But it doesn’t mean they’re good at art.

      “Enjoys working in teams” is a cheat.

      If he “knows his own mind”, he is stubborn.

      “Polite” means his work’s not OK.

      “Shows interest in her environment”

      Means she looks out the window all day.

      But remember Winston Churchill,

      Whose report said he’d “no ambition”;

      When he grew up he certainly proved them all wrong…

      Do carry on this tradition.

      My Dad Is Sooo Embarrassing

      My dad is sooo embarrassing.

      He really is a fool.

      He’s just bought a Harley

      And he thinks that he is cool.

      He gets drunk with his sad friends

      And then they get all naughty.

      What makes me sick and shocked and shamed

      Is they’re all over forty.

      He was God’s gift to music,

      A rockstar, given the chance.

      But it’s a total killer

      If you ever see him dance.

      He also thinks he’s sexy

      And flirts with the au pair.

      I’ll never take a girlfriend home

      If my dad just might be there.

      His hair’s receding rapidly;

      It’s now just a massive parting.

      He combs it over from one side,

      A bit like Bobby Charlton.

      He also was a sportsman once

      And now he’s on my side.

      The touchline echoes with his yells

      And I just want to hide.

      He also thinks he’s funny

      And tells jokes to all my chums.

      He makes Sid James look classy

      With his jests of tits and bums.

      But once he was a teenager –

      Was a lad, back in his day.

      He must have cringed at my grandad

      In exactly the same way.

      We Have Ways of Making You Eat

      School rules are often stupid,

      To do with bells and pegs.

      Shirts must be tucked in trousers

      And socks cover half of your legs.

      But lunchtime brings The Great Escape.

      The Dining Hall is Colditz.

      The menu is from World War II

      And