A sorry tale

Gillian Peanuts was really overheating

on a summer's evening.

He let out a curse

when his trousers burst

and then again

when his armchair collapsed.

Mittens the raccoon

I was quietly watching

the inside of a huge bubble

which had formed beneath

my elongated and proud faced

raccoon, the one I had named Mittens

the Racoon,

when all of a sudden

a tractor appeared.

Fruitbats

Fruitbats Fruitbats!

on a Bunsen burner,

licking all the metal bits,

getting high on gas fumes.

Fruitbats Fruitbats!

in a Cornish pasty

eating the potato segments,

banging on the pastry.

Fruitbats Fruitbats!

living by a toaster,

snorting up the bread crumbs,

longing for some croissants.

Martin Mishall

Big Chief Little Teats,

a beautiful native Indian man,

who fed the ducks at Luton Airport,

and lived alone in a pile of suitcases,

died.

No one knew where he kept the duck food

so the ducks died too,

apart from one, called Martin Mishall

who attended the Teats funeral and performed a song 

until, like the trousers of Gillian Peanuts, 

he burst. 

Feathers, feathers everywhere.