Mr Hong Chahosie Poem by Catherine Casey

Mr Hong Chahosie
Takes two coffees in his tea.
He stores his Demerara
Neath a rock down by the sea.


Uniqueness in his taste
Leaves the crabs to scratch their shells.
‘Surely salty, browny stuff,
Would keep better where he dwells’.


Mr Hong Chahosie
Has three feathers in his cap.
He will often tickle trees
As a way to get their sap.


He's heard that silver birch
Mixed with lemon on your tooth
Can make one go bananas,
Send endorphins through the roof.


Mr Hong Chahosie
Shuffles backwards in the street.
His spectacles downturned when
Wearing braces round his feet.


Most the population
He seen coming from afar.
React with sudden impulse
Fly full throttle in their car.


Not that their impression
Was too veiled from being disguised,
At Mr Hong's insistence
When their local produce died.

He was in the bathroom
Not half way up Potter's creek.
Eradicating mushrooms?
Teaching fungi how to speak!


He always flicks the salt
In his favourite coffee house.
He aims it past the pepper
And machine guns every mouse.


Crammed into his bedroom
Are a set of exit doors.
You only know you’ve got there
When you ponder ‘What the cause? ’


Mr Hong Chahosie
Entertains the garden gnomes.
His washing line a tight rope.
You can almost hear their groans.


Stand by – The finale.
With his triple backward bounce.
It’s grabbing the attention
Not by tonnage but by ounce.