the weekly poem.com

Hunt the Salmon

I am a salmon, sleek and pink,

I swim the deep, I swim the drink,

My gills are sharp, my fins are keen,

I can’t hear what you really mean.

 

I like to leap the stream and tide,

Do squeeze my scales, they are my pride:

I am as bright as any button,

Although I’ve gone completely mutton.

 

I count up every bank and bed,

My eyeballs straining in my head –

But can’t hear doctors, I’m afraid –

I need a stronger hearing aid.

 

My sonar’s poor, my radar’s shot,

A backbone’s what I haven’t got,

I may be smuggest of the smugs,

But nothing enters through my lugs.

 

Charterhouse was my great shoal:

It farmed me, and removed my soul –

I’m perfect for the household chef,

But WHAT WAS THAT? I’m very deaf.

 

Click here for a Telegraph story

Click here for an i story

 

 

 

Hunt the Salmon

Farmed salmon are going deaf, according to researchers at the University of Melbourne. Jeremy Hunt was accused of not listening to junior doctors.


29 April 2016

POETRY KIT WEBRING

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