Are first to come and long to stay
And Spring, the tinker loiters near
But never gives the game away
Then cold sets in to close the day.
Rhubarb, rhubarb, that's the stuff.
Unfashionable? No, think again.
The restaurants can't get enough
And "forced" may be the New Champagne.
The compotes with foie gras terrine
Mean rhubarb's coming home at last.
But Rheum rhaponticum once seen
In gardens of my misspent past
Was massive in its leaves and stem
And only grown so boys like me
Could catapult great holes in them
From high up in a nearby tree.
With sedatives dropped in their food
To temper those in frisky mood
The horses of Her Majesty
Are not as sharp as they should be.
Excessive equine joie d'esprit
May hinder Household Cavalry
Who cannot risk being thrown en masse
Base over apex - or cuirasse.
The drug with which the fodder's laced
Goes by the clubby name of "paste",
And, stoned on it, the steeds stand by
To do their duties dull of eye.
Now some will say this needs to be
For state occasions' dignity,
While others may prefer of course
To stone the Palace, not the horse.
Hang on! It's "Nineteen Eighty-three...
A Merman I Shall Turn To Be".
This isn't some nostalgia drift -
But Hendrix playing in the lift!
The firm that brought you Muzak say
That Jimi's been decreed OK,
So hotel lobbies, lifts and halls
Have Hendrix bouncing round the walls.
A snappy slogan, too, no doubt:
"Turn up, turn in, nod off, check out."
And there beside the freebie soap,
"Your complimentary blim of dope".
The food, the food of Frankenstein
Is cheap, looks good and tastes divine.
We smoke, we drink, we drive a car -
Such temples as our bodies are,
Why panic when our soya beans
Are modified by dubious means?
Besides, our kids, the little loves,
Look sweet in their three-fingered gloves.Reuse content