
...
What's really scary about this poem, apart from my being mentally disturbed enough to write it, is that I could recite it upon it's completion. (Don't tell my therapist.)
‘PICKLED’ © 1994 Glenny Palmer
In the shop this jar of pickles sent my taste buds into tickles
at the thought of pickle prickles on my tongue;
the mustard & zucchini made me dribble just a weeny bit,
for teeny green zucchini pieces, yum!
Now I wasn’t born a meanie, but the salesman when I seen he asked
a price so lean, my beanie left my head;
by golly in our folly me ‘n Molly grabbed a trolley
and like Wallys with the fickle pickles fled.
We had pickles in our jumpers, in the boot & on the bumpers
and in numbers more than dumpers we had puffed;
our heads were feeling reeling wheeling pickles to the ceiling
and in kneeling dealing pickles, we were stuffed.
So we had some light refreshment & applauded our investment
and considered our ingestment of the paste,
when Granny wandered through & said, ‘Ive got some news for you
and that’s repent at leisure when you buy in haste!’
We pondered on her meaning, seeming deeming caution streaming
from her knowledge; she was teeming with disdain,
when Grandad sidled by & said,’You’ll try until you die to pry
those pickle lids that Granny twists in vain.’
With blood drained from my face & heart a-race I then retraced my pace
to Granny’s place to chase her gracious aid,
‘Granny tell me quick the trick of how to flick the lids & lick
the pickles,’ere I’m sick with worry made.’
Granny shook her head with dread & led me to the bed & said,
‘I wed your Grandad fifty years ago;’
she lifted up the cover, ‘neath the bed I then discovered
how her love o’ pickles only brought her woe.
For lined up near the potty was a row of old & spotty pickles;
dotty Aunty Lottie’s wedding gift,
‘For fifty flamin’ years I’ve been in tears & some arrears
for I fear these bloody lids will never shift!’
Now you may sit & gloat while me ‘n Moll cut both our throats
and vote those pickles we did tote to disappear,
the answer’s in our heads, we’ll buy two whoppin’ King size beds
& hope the blighters last for over fifty years.’