An Epic Poem
The Plug Hole On The Moon
As I wandered over saucers
Of the pearliest of pink,
In the sunshine, in the bottom
Of my stainless steel sink,
And I walked towards the plug hole
With a smile upon my face
On a very special journey
To a most peculiar place,
I sang a little song,
That's what it was I did,
I sang it from the tea cups
And from the saucepan lid.
I sang it to the pint glass
And I sang it to a spoon,
I sang it 'til I got there -
The plug hole on the moon.
And there I was before it.
It was bigger than the sea,
And the holes down which the water goes
Were twice the size of me,
And the clinging greenish matter
That did grow around the rim
Reminded me I needed
To buy some Vim.
The tap that loomed above me
Was preparing to let rip
The most enormous, hugest,
Biggest, largest drip,
And I tried to run for cover
But the drip did drop too soon
And I found that I was falling
Down the pug hole on the moon.
I was falling very quickly
But I still had time to think,
"So this is what it's like inside
The plug hole of a sink!
And this is how it feels to be
That little piece of crud
That they don't scrape off the plate
Before they drop it in the suds."
Directly underneath me
A little prick of light
Was quickly growing larger
As I speeded up my flight.
I had to close my eyes as it
Was growing rather bright
And then I landed with a bump
Which really gave me quite a fright.
Then I opened up my eyes . . .
Oh! What a sight!
I was sitting on a tea bag
In the U-bend of the sink.
The one I'd used for breakfast
When I'd made myself a drink
That had fallen down the plug hole,
'Though I hadn't quite known how,
Was the one on which I found myself
Sitting upon now.
And all around swam noodles
With big smiles upon their lips,
And some pasta shells played tennis
With some pomegranite pips,
And part of a tomato
Was saying something brash
That seemed to be offesive
To some partly melted Smash.
And from just around the U-bend
I could hear the sound of trumpets
From the colliery band
Of the U-bend mining crumpets
Who spent their lives in sewers,
Almost every single day,
Looking for the treasures
That we humans throw away.
And they blew their horns with pride
Amidst a barrage of applause
From the swimming smiling noodles
And the pasta on the shores.
They sailed around the U-bend
And I asked, "Where have they gone?"
"They've gone to see the king!"
Replied a friendly piece of scone.
"Oh, pardon me!" I cried,
"It seems I stand corrected,
I thought that you were ruled
By an autonomous collective.
It seems that you, on me,
Have rather managed to get one-up,
As I didn't know before you said,
You people have a monarch."
"Oh yes, we have a king all right,"
The shaking scone did utter,
"A nasty piece of work he is, as well.
And that's not all,", he added, "The guy is such a nutter!
In fact, to be precise - he is a smell!"
"Whatever do you mean?" I asked,
Intrigued, yet not concerned,
"You've been here quite some time," he said,
"I think it's time you learned.
The king was once a Twiglet -
Never was a finer fellow -
'Til one morning he awoke to find
His brown had turned to yellow,
Turned a spooky shade of grey,
And after that the king did start
To slowly fade away,
'Til after that his final
Royal crumb was washed away.
The king was gone for good, but still
His stench was here to stay."
"I don't mean to be rude," I said
"But really, don't you think,
It seems a little daft to have
A king that is a stink?
And doesn't it seem silly
That your king is just a smell?
I can understand a Twiglet,
But really! Bloody hell!
The scone it shook with terror,
"No, you just don't understand.
The odour of the king is quite
The cruellest in the land.
The scent that lingers on
After a Twiglet decomposes
Is hardly like the perfume
Of sweetly scented roses."
"So take me to your king!" I cried,
"For I cannot fear a pong.
It might be quite unpleasant,
But dangerous? No! You're wrong!
You shouldn't live in fear here
Of a smell that smells like shite.
I'll make it go away then
Everything will be all right."
So I headed off towards the sound
Of the crumpets' trumpets just around
The U-bend and towards the gloom
Of darkness where I'd meet my doom,
For once I'd smelt the king's great pong
I realised that I'd been wrong
And racked with guilt because I'd put
A Twiglet down the plug hole, but
It was too late. I couldn't win.
I should have put it in the bin.
My time had come. It was too late.
I SHOULD have scraped it off the plate.
I prepared to meet my fate.
Soon the U-bend air was soured
And everyone was overpowered.
Before me crumpets fell like like flies
And I felt water in my eyes.
"Your majesty! I come in peace!"
I shouted through my handkerchief.
But, alas! This tale does not end happily.
In fact it ends a wee bit crappily.
The smiles left the noodles' lips.
Their happy wiggles left their hips.
The giggling pasta ceased its tennis
And succombed to the stench's menace,
And as I gasped my dying breath
And drifted into a smelly death
And as my vision did grow dim
I wished again I'd bought some Vim
And perhaps I'd not have met my doom
Down the plug hole, on the moon.
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