What’s th’ boontuddie I say to me mate Podge
who’s off with the faeries, tho’ maybe gremlins
in his case as he’s into barking eclectic ideas;
gee, he says we’re sitting here out on th’ front
patio where there’s no tucker - what’s the GO;
I fear he’s reflecting the toasted pita bread we
had under poached eggs at breakfast, shared
generously with him but refused, has spoken
We repair to th’ rear patio where his food bowl
still shows bits of yesterday’s prodigal spread;
he implies that’s what I gruffing meant, chews
a few of the dried bikkies altho eyeing cheese
nibble slices disappearing without his vetting -
musing that boontuddie didn’t turn up neither
© 21 June 2016, I. D. Carswell
No comments:
Post a Comment