The Annual Prawn Ball

The Annual Prawn Ball
was open to all,
from the mighty blue whale
to the smallest sea-snail.

Invitations went out
to the shark and the trout
and seating arrangements
were almost worked out.

Hyped and promoted
from ocean to sea,
to every small inlet
from fjord to zee.

The PR was perfect.
The planning was sound.
When the prawns looked for problems,
not one could be found.

The progamme was ready,
the parts were all cast
and the best, as is usual,
was saved until last.

A bright phosphor light-show,
a swirling ballet,
then synchronised swimming
and free food - hooray!

first came the crowds
in shimmering clouds,
then those on the make,
the haddock, the hake.

The big-shots came later
and caused quite a buzz,
some small-fry now thinking
'the menu is us'.

The whales stayed aloof,
with healthy disdain.
Their lofty position
they couldn't profane.

The sharks went for retro,
like fifties drive-ins,
all flashy wide grilles
and stylish tail fins.

The parade was quite dazzling,
the audience grew faint
as bright neon starlets
led clowns in greasepaint.

At last came the moment,
awaited by all,
here comes the Prawn Princess
and the Queen of the Ball.

The King Prawn was proud
as a King Prawn could be,
for one fleeting moment
King of the Sea.

The chic Queen of Prawns
couldn't fail to impress
in her tiny black shoes
and her prawn cocktail dress.

Everyone loved her,
even the skate.
Not a creature could harm her
nor wish her ill fate.

But as things tend to do
when all things seem well
dark forces had gathered
in deep ocean swell.

A streamlined invader,
with deadly, sharp snoot,
flew through the throng
not giving a hoot.

With lightning-fast impact
he speared for his tea
the King and the Queen
and the daughter, all three!

He'd gone to the ball
with the best of intent
and for most of the show
he was quiet, content.

He'd witnessed it all
in a state of near bliss,
but the tasty prawn sandwich
was too good to miss.