Chucking Out The Junk Poem by C Richard Miles

Although my kid brother’s quite a bit of a hunk,
He’s just like his mother, as a hoarder of junk.
He had so much clutter in his pad, dark with gloom,
It looked like the gutter had invaded his room:

It was so full of litter that escaped from the bin
Which was too full to fit even paperclips in
But he went on a gap year to remote, high Tibet
And, since there was a gap here, we decided to let.

And so a fresh lodger was inveigled to stay
But his mess wouldn’t dodge her, so she started to say:
“Let’s have a chuck-out. Let’s have a throw.
Let’s clean this muck out. Let it all go.

Let’s take it down to the charity shop,
Before I drown. Do not tell me to stop.”
So, we had a throw-out. We had a ball.
We had a blow-out and got rid of it all.

As soon as we threw it, the day that it went,
I knew we would rue it, if he knew our intent
Since, all of a sudden, my brother came back
As he’d found that he couldn’t hack milk from a yak.

And he flashed to his bedroom, in a dash up the stairs
Though his bed had more headroom, his things were not there
And that’s where this story gets a bit out of hand
And we felt very sorry, when he made his demand;

“ Where has my stuff gone? ” We replied to his shout:
“Don’t get in a huff, John; we chucked it all out.”
He did not seem delighted we’d tidied his gear
And gruffly invited us to make it reappear.

This called for a trip to the centre of town
To buy back for hundreds which cost half a crown.
It cost us a packet to buy back his things
Like his new dinner jacket and his silver-gilt rings.

And so if they tempt me to tidy again
And get rid of rubbish, I’ll count up to ten,
Then face them who taxed me to clear up my shelves
And tell them who asked me to clear off themselves.