the following is a true story, written in about 30 minutes.
it was only meant to make someone laugh, but i liked it.
(with apologies to william blake...)
the song of picklefoot
Hear ye all give ear to this
lest bad luck to yr days befell
and heedless of my warning cry
with pickle eye in hijinx dwell
devoid of wet refrigerated bliss;
There comes a time in every mind
when cotton on the tongue forseen
can be forestalled by padding foot
into the kitchen quiet and clean
to bring forth beverages of any kind-
Expecting not a puzzlement
i ventured forth no less to gain
than aqualine refreshingment
--so soft, like autumn's blessed rain--
and slake my thirst with drops from heaven sent
When in my path, a friend appear'd
with cooling and forgiving trust
a pantry of the lower climes
where yesterdinner dwelling must
--lest penicillin's ugly head be rear'd!
I gave my hand of loyalty
(as countless times before had done)
and clasping grasper wrapp'd around
and pulled my grip toward the one
so many times before was known as ME...
Quite unprepared was i to glean
the startling quick bethudding bonk
of ripples fraught with peril nigh
--an avalanching can from konk!!
its turgid wake a rattled shattered scene...
When silence fell, my senses reached
precluding any cans-a-more,
assessing damage to the shelf
(the lowermost, where things are stored
that weightiness insists a sturdy breech)
Now thoughts of mine did activate
that being held responsible
for suicidal cans-o' pop
that render shelves un shelfable
now i should set about to put things straight
I closed the door, a towel to fetch in
sitting bum upon the floor
i laughingly adjusted fate
a-wiping syrup, all the more
amusing to the lovely giggling Gretchen...
Now heeding only laughter's tickles,
i once again pulled ope' the door
which, shelfless and unprepaired
for such a jolt as i implor'd,
proceeded to eject a jar of pickles.
O PICKLY POP! the sound unfurled,
linoleum and vinegare
apparently repel, propelling
pickle shrapnel everywhere
from wall to wall where tender tootsies curled
To whisking broom and dusting pan
the noble lady Gretchen rac'd
and sweeping, did reform that land
from chaos to a state of grace
that once again could bear the soles of man!
And as i sat a- sopping, mopping
soaking up the pickly liquid
i beheld my filthy towel
that kept it's secret well and hid-
"tomorrow, you must wander, pickle-shopping..."
For as the laughing laughs did pass
a grim reminder did appear
a prophecy of sandwiches
proclaiming thus, for all to hear:
"Eat thou not thy pickles mix'd with glass!"
