METAL TYPE regular Mike Wilson, from Bridlington in the UK sent in this poem.
Mike said: "I'm writing tales in poetry about my childhood. And as I looked at your site today I seem to think I saw the words "Printer's Pie." So I sat and composed this poem. It's a blank verse sonnet, which the writers tell me is difficult to do. But this one just fell into place. Hope you like it.
The blokes at work made me a pie today.
They wrapped it up with strong and sturdy string.
It seemed too heavy to be a normal pie
but they said the pie would go with anything.
I took it home and gave it to my mum
She smiled when told who'd given it to me
"We'll have it for our tea tonight then, son,"
and hid the pie. She wouldn't let me see.
When teatime came I loved the apple pie;
with custard made by Mum, it tasted good.
My portion seemed to have no weight at all
but I was pleased to eat their printer's pud.
They laughed at me next day. I wondered why.
They told me what is really printer's pie.
Mike Wilson, Bridlington