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UFO clippingsThere I sat in me old tin hat, Warm and cosy in me grans flat. Out came the clippers, pinkies exposed, I get away lightly with one up me nose. Clipping and crunching oh what a sight, Nails a darting like tin cans in flight! One hits the dog it gives out a yelp, Another one gets lodged in Grandads belt. From big toe to little at fever pitch, Like the tapestry of life every last stitch. If I make a catch I know I can win it As Grandad sips on his surgical spirit! …I'll not give up the day job... By Steve Dean (But Always Dan To Me) Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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