Grendel's Mother
by Pete Crowther
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Ron Splatkinburger's Slightly Daft Book of Poetry
Exchange of an Unsuitable Pet
by Pete Crowther
In a little family group they stood
Aggrieved on the petshop floor.
”It bit me and me mam and our Gladys,
And ‘im, that boy by the door.”
The ferret dangled like a dishcloth,
Totally in disgrace
And listened appalled as its sins and shortcomings
Were paraded in front of its face.
The petshop assistant was doubtful, and said
They'd had it as a kitten,
And neither customer or staff
Had it ever bitten.
But when she'd seen the scars and scratches
On Gladys's hands and face
She said they might have another ferret
To take the miscreant's place.
‘No thanks, no way', they said, as one,
‘We'll have a different pet,
Something soft, preferably toothless,
Anything but a ferret!'
They humm'd and haw'd and messed about
With many a poke and dig
And finally chose in exchange for their ferret
A silly guinea pig.
'We never should have let her in,
Grendel's mum, you said that we'd be sorry
If we did, but I was feeling generous
After several double gins
And when she knocked at six o'clock
Quick up I jumped and called ‘Come in! .
A thundercloud stood on the step!
It wasn't just that she was big,
She was obese, with eyes the size of saucers
And hot breath enough to burn the curtains
When she coughed. Like some enormous
Tyrannosaurus Rex she lurched
Into the room sending all the ornaments
Flying from the mantelpiece,
Splintering the floorboards, frightening the cat.
Then she started getting nasty
When I asked her to refrain
From chewing up the tablecloth
And spitting out the bits.
The telephone was still intact
So I dialled nine-nine-nine.
When the operator asked me
What service I required
I didn't want the ambulance,
I didn't want the police
I didn't want a fire engine,
Not one of them could cope,
So I screamed into the mouthpiece
As the monster ran amok:
‘I need someone to slay a beast,
Please send me Beowulf!.
Cook on Full Power for 30 Minutes
Fry me in your Microwave,
I need to feel the heat.
Dip me in your swimming pool,
I want to find my feet.
Drop me from your mountain heights,
Or else I'll never fly.
Blow my mind with endless knowledge,
Perhaps I'll question why.
Bring the wolf-pack to my door,
They'll teach me how to fight.
Throw me down the pits of hell,
I'm sure I'll learn what's right.
Steal my dreams and crush my will,
I'm sure that they'll return,
And fry me in your microwave,
How else am I to learn?'
Cook on Full Power for 30 Minutes
by Peter M A Smith