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Auntie Brenda’s Pheasant

Once I got a birthday present

From my Auntie Brenda’s pheasant

Eagerly I tore the wrapping

And barely stopped myself from crapping

For there within the pile of shredding

Kicking Elvis Presley’s head in

Was a troop of ballerinas

All called Anne or Sue or Tina.

Gracefully they danced the conga

In one line which grew much longer

’Til it stretched to Timbuktu

Then tragically it split in two

And then in four and then in eight

Dividing at a startling rate

Until the infinite divisions

Formed a cloud upon my vision.

Then from this fog without a doubt

Sprang a million Brussels sprouts

And all of them they had one leg

And said they wanted me to beg

The Emperor Sprout’s benevolent brother

To issue them each with another;

Only he was so empowered

To hand out limbs to such a crowd.

But I said "No, you foolish veggies,

If you look behind those hedges

You will find a million legs

Requiring sprouts like toast needs eggs."

And then I fled to avoid the rush

As every sprout leapt o’er a bush,

And to save my precious bacon

When they found out they’d been taken.

So I ran, I ran, I ran,

I ran into a strawberry flan.

I bounced against its textured sponge

Which splattered me with cream and gunge

And as I wiped it from my eye

A poultry healer I did spy

Who asked me if I’d seen a drake

Who’d gone down with a stomach ache.

I said I had not seen this fowl

And at this he began to howl

"If you don’t find this sickly mallard

I shall sing a woeful ballad

One which will dismay you so

That for my patient you will go."

I said, "I shall do no such thing."

The poultry man began to sing.

But as he hit the opening bar

He got knocked down by a car

Which from the door there did alight

A wretched looking Israelite

Whose beard was made from curtain tassels

That once hung in Windsor Castle.

Awkwardly he held a plaice

Which he slapped across my face.

"Congratulations," he proclaimed,

"You’re the winner of the game

You entered in a shop of ties.

I must present you with your prize."

He handed me a bunch of grapes

Of rich and rare assorted shapes.

I picked one which bore great resemblance

To the fourth of Zeppelin’s emblems.

The skin then split, the flesh it parted,

From it shoals of mullet darted

Fleeing from a mad old woman

Who the devil she did summon.

Before me stood the Prince of Darkness

Gnawing on a mongoose carcass.

He said "This tastes a little coarse,

Do you have some tartare sauce?"

I put my hand inside my jacket

And produced a little packet

Of the relish he required

That I’d nicked when feeling tired

In the Burger King in Wapping

After doing lots of shopping

For some trousers and a dress

And toilet rolls - but I digress.

So Satan took the condiment

And on it he did compliment

And said it made his meal right tasty

And that he’d been much too hasty

To condemn so many souls

To watching endless games of bowls

In a poky little cell

’Cos that’s what happens down in hell.

He raised his hand and thus decreed

That all these sinners should be freed

And mankind should not face temptation

And risk eternal damnation,

But one man called Egbert Moles

Said that he liked watching bowls

And why should his joy be denied

By Satan changing to divine.

Then God said "It’s OK young man,

Come up to heaven. Here you can

Watch bowls all night and every day,

It’s all the same here anyway.

Since Satan’s ceased to be a cad

I’ll have a go at being bad.

I’ll drink and smoke and shag the chicks

And over use the asterisk."*

(*A crime of which many writers are guilty.)

And with that God gave me a beer

Then kicked me firmly in the rear.

I landed face first in a middin

Which an auctioneer was bidding

For the highest price he could

From a crowd of planks of wood

Who seemed to be a bit dismayed

As in the steaming heap I laid.

Five pounds, ten pounds, twenty, fifty,

The planks of wood were getting nifty.

One hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four,

They all were jumping on the floor.

A thousand pounds and rising fast,

The auctioneer he was aghast.

The bidding passed a million pounds

And showed no sign of slowing down.

Finally the hammer fell

Upon the dung heap and its smell

For a billion squillion quid

Which a pine wood plank had bid.

It stepped up forth and with a grin it

Claimed the heap and all within it,

Then I knew this plank of wealth

Had only gone and bought myself.

Bound in chains I was dragged away

To labour in the docking bay

Of an interstellar cruiser

That my plank bought down the boozer.

All day long I parked the shuttles

Of important high-brow Yuttles,

These were creatures from Uranus

That the planks of wood deemed famous.

By night I had to serve the wine

As plank and Yuttle wined and dined

And as they engaged in conversation

I listened with great consternation

To their devious cunning plot

To raid the Earth of all it’s got.

Their final goal was, I did find,

The genocide of all mankind.

To put an end to their alliance

I announced with great defiance

That I had an aunt in Crewe

Who could chop planks right in two

And she could brew a deadly potion

Which smelled a bit like sun tan lotion

And made extra-terrestrial beings

Mutate into bathroom ceilings.

Planks and Yuttles turned and stared

At this audacious slave who’d dared

To cause them this impediment

With such a most unlikely aunt.

Thankfully they bought my story,

I think they found it rather gory,

Back to space they fled in terror

From their most unfortunate error.

They left me lying on a hill top

Where the sheep danced to some hip hop

Music that the shepherd

Played upon a descant leopard.

Then a Spanish chef approached

And grabbed the shepherd by the throat.

He said "This music scares my kettle,

Can you play some heavy metal?"

Obligingly the shepherd shook

His lengthy curly handled crook

And on the spotted cat he played

Motorhead’s Ace Of Spades.

The sheep went wild and shook their heads

And tore their fleecy coats to shreds

’Til all the hill top was knee deep

In wool and frantic naked sheep.

I tried to walk but slipped and stumbled

In the mass of wool I tumbled,

Down the hill side I did roll

Until I hit a sack of coal.

The Spanish chef then caught me up

And said I looked a bit fed up

So he would cook some aubergines

That we could eat with ruptured spleens.

From the skies he hailed a pigeon

Which he told to fetch his kitchen.

I said "You should not really go

To all this trouble for me, you know."

But then the faithful bird returned

And said "Your kitchen has been burned

By your careless daughter Florence,

But you can claim on the insurance."

The Spanish chef began to cry,

The pigeon pecked him in the thigh,

"As I was flying back this way

I stopped off at a Take-Away.

They had no aubergine and spleens

And so I nipped behind the scenes

And slipped their kitchen ’eath my wing

And that is what to you I bring."

It dropped the kitchen on the ground.

We stepped inside and there we found

The biggest pile of oregano

Made entirely from Meccano.

Amazed, I stared without a word

Upon this splendid model herb

Of gears and levers, cogs and wheels,

The ideal seasoning for a meal.

And as I gazed in wonderment

The chef performed a sacrament.

He blessed the oregano pile

And prayed it never be defiled.

The oregano then responded,

"Chef and herb have now been bonded,

You must enter my machinery

And become part of my scenery."

Clockwork leaves then opened wide,

The Spanish chef then stepped inside.

The opening closed with just a squelch

And then the herb discharged a belch.

Once more it spoke, this time to me

"I hope that you can also see

That we two must be joined together,

I shall have you, come whatever."

"No," I said, "I’ll never follow

That poor chef that you’ve just swallowed.

Surely it is most absurd,

A chef being eaten by a herb!"

I turned towards the kitchen door

And found that it was there no more.

I looked around and was most shocked

To notice every exit blocked.

And then the pile began to crawl,

I backed away into the wall.

Closer still, inexorably

My nemesis crept up to me,

Robot arms thrust out at speed

And grasped me by the wrists and feet.

Then suddenly I did remember -

I don’t have an Auntie Brenda.

Poetry

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