Laundresses, Basements, and Pythons
Gullible wretches, so polished and pure
That they cannot see a wide-open door,
Or feel the fatigue in a dog-eared macaw
How can they be so subtle and sure?!
Their hand is no cleat, their footing no claw
Whereon could tug the hands of the poor
Yet why stay silent?
Why not then invent
A half-penny mask
Carved from a tusk
Whittled in stone
By old Judge Crask
Baked in the bone
And set on a stand
With civet and musk?
Hideous python, squeezing my neck,
Dogging my foot, each turn of the trek
Shunning my call, ignoring my beck
How can it be so stubborn and stern?
Holding on tight, despite every burn,
Dogging my thorax each trek of the turn
Yet why not slough off?
Discharge, with a cough
That shakes off the roof,
The rabid, the rough
By diamond-heads picked
The head or the hoof
Stands by to be ticked
In fashion unplanned
By sturdy Macduff
Voluble Duchess, her polish and poise
Are only found second to noise upon noise
Less than aloof as she shatters her toys
How can she be so sacred and stained?
How did she cope with the rust that remained
When the oceans swept in and the neighbours complained?
Contributors: | Surlaw, Apsley. |
Poem finished: | 10th October 2002. |