Friday, 22 July 2016
When push comes to poet
'Come on!' Bertha mooed. 'We can't afford to dawdle.'
'Would you kindly not push!' Horace replied.
'Timing is going to be critical,' Bertha continued.
'I am a ....'
'Poet!...And they bruise just as easily as Captains.'
'One hates to interrupt but we do have a job to do,' Queen Phoebe added.
Slowly, Horace's way toward the snack stand was made for him.
'You're sure you can remember what you've got to say?' Bertha asked. 'We can't afford mistakes.'
'I am very used to remembering lines,' Horace informed her.
There was a family in front of them by the time they arrived. Queen Phoebe thought it best to give them a regal type wave.
'One is an ordinary holidaymaker,' she announced.
The family stared back at her so she gave them a second wave. The mother raised her camera.
'NO PICTURES!!!!' Queen Phoebe screamed and the mother put her camera down again.
Eventually, Harriet finished serving them and the family moved away.
Bertha gave Horace a final push and he found himself before Harriet. He paused for a while to peruse the list that was displayed.
'Get on with it!' Bertha muttered.
'I am a sensitive poet of some renown,' Horace began, 'and I would like an ice cream.'
Bertha gave him a slight nudge.
'With a flake,' Horace added.