Memo to Daryl

So, my friend
you’d like my poems to cheer you up
and make you laugh
Reduce the risk of you being found
recumbent in a crimson bath
the only clue to what went wrong
a soggy poem by Parson Thru
locked in perpetuity in Rigor Mortis’ grasp

I’m not much cop at jokes, in truth
so leave that stage for other blokes
My humour amounts to nothing more
than a lack lustre firework show
Never sufficiently stable
to make it to the page
A collision of coping measures
that help me earn a living wage

And so, dearest colleague,
I’ll keep on writing guff
that may or may not make you laugh
But cannot guarantee
you won’t be driving home to run a bath
And, anyway, I’ve seen you chuckle
when reading the dismal lines I write
so there may just be a joke in there
even if it's just the cheek
of pedalling this shite