Last night, in the morning, I gandered down the wooden stairs,
ate jellied eels for breakfast with my pals, the grizzly bears.
Just a normal day so far but, as we slurped our dishes,
I heard a floosome noise outside – sploshy, splashy, splishy.

So I opened up the hatches to see what I could see
and, to my utter flabber, there’s an elephant up a tree.
‘I’m very sad,’ he wozzled, ‘And I’m in an awful muddle.’
He shed a tear and then another till they formed giant puddle.

‘I’ve lost my tusks,’ he told me with a tragivistal frown
and he recounted how they’d vanished as his circus came to town.
‘An elephant without his tusks is just a just a simple nelly,’
he sighed and cried another tear, his face dissolved like jelly.

I grabbed my hat and coat, my bag and shoogly purse
‘Wait here,’ I said because I couldn’t think of anything worse
to happen to an elephant than to lose his winsome finery
– his splendid white appendages made up of shiny ivory.

Down the local supermarket there was an oofly queue
and I wondered for a moment what in wetwang I should do
The nelly was performing in a show that very night –
he had to have some tusks for his moment in the spotlight.

Then luckily a singing squid danced past in purple pantaloons
and the queue fanoodled after her as she played her squidgy toons.
So I grockled through the sliding doors and shouted for some help
and such was my excitement, I let out a little belch.

‘Oh, lucky you,’ a colleague clucked and snapped her chicken beak,
‘Replacement tusks have gone on offer just this very week.’
‘Buy one get one free,’ I carpled with delight.
I’ll take a dozen of them – I imagine that will be alright.’

I crackled home in high calloo to tell the treesome creature
that I’d got the tusks he needed to restore his finest feature
but when I gurgled up the road the nelly wasn’t there –
I would have called his name but what it was, I’d no idea.

There were no footprints in the grass, no clues at all, no sign

–   just a giant muddy puddle to show he’d been at mine.
I nearly threw the BOGOF tusks into my wheelie bin
but, if you should see him, please invite him to call in.

You see I didn’t throw those tusks away – I’ve kept them just in case
and if he calls again then I might fling them in his face.

Liz McPherson

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  1. Bill Fitzsimons says:

    A delightful poem, Liz, which will appeal to the child in all of us.

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