And here's the proof!

If it has a familiar feel to it it's because I've taken a modern twist on a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

My disrespectful take of Hiawatha. Sorry Henry!!

Fred Dawson’s Girlfriend

By the shore of Bognor-Regis,
By the murky mucky water,
At the doorway of his chip shop,
In the rainy winter evening,
Freddie Dawson stood and farted.
All his hair was full of batter,
All his overalls grey and greasy,
And before him on the pavement,
Pointing towards the old bus station
Dressed in denim stands his girlfriend,
Rolling fags, the scruffy madam,
Smoking, swearing at the weather.
Clouds above her getting darker,
Puddles spreading round her ankles;
All her clothes were wet and soggy,
A dew drop, dripping off her nostril;
Dropping gently on her bosom
Making stains upon her tee shirt,
Ever damper by the minute,
Standing wet without her brolly
By the shop of Freddie Dawson
Gone was every trace of lippy,
As the mascara from her lashes,
And varnish chipping from her fingers.
With a smile all black and gappy,
With a look of expectation,
As of one entranced and smitten
Sees a beauty, which is not one,
Stands besotted Freddie Dawson.

©Marian Barker