The job

The job

I work for the railway
Just an ordinary bloke
I used to think my current job
Was only just a joke

I stand on a big station
But I’m not one of the porters
My job is stopping lots of kids
Rushing platform nine and three quarters

They think that if you run head down
Between platforms nine and ten
They’ll get on the train for Hogwarts
And become a wizard then

I know Harry Potter’s just a book
But I must convince his fans
So I shout, “You lot are muggles,”
And hold up both my hands

They struggle along the platform
It sometimes takes them ages
Pushing heavily loaded trolleys
Topped by birds they keep in cages

But once I had a sneezing fit
And lost my concentration
Not the sort of thing to do
When working on a station

By the time that I recovered
The scene was in a mess
Little kids still holding trolleys
Were in very great distress

Bird cages rolling all around
Big dents in the station floor
But I noticed there were fewer kids
Than there had been before

Perhaps there is a Hogwarts
And powerful wizards who
Might come back to curse me
And let the others through.

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