I've bought myself a barbecue
With charcoal that you light;
I'm going to stink my neighbours out
On every summer's night.
I'm going to turn the gardens blue
With choking greasy smoke,
And if they've got their washing out
I'll see that as a joke!
The acrid fumes will fill their rooms
Through windows open wide;
While all the sausages burn black
And yet stay raw inside.
The burgers will become like coal,
Kebabs like meteorite;
I must prolong this ghastly pong
To smoulder through the night.
But if the shrubbery gets hot
And sparks set it alight,
I'll have myself a bonfire too -
And blight their balmy night!
Comments
Stan | January 16, 2012 - 18:02
Ha ha... I like it.
That'll teach 'em to play their stereo loud. Smoke 'em out!
Indrani Ananda | January 16, 2012 - 18:13
Indrani Ananda
If only that would work, Stan. One is usually landed with both kinds of pest - one on each side!
Nolan | January 16, 2012 - 18:20
The battle of the bands
scratch | January 16, 2012 - 19:42
Funny Andrani, you are so versatile. Thanks for sharing. Good poem as well by the way.
Rhiannonw | January 16, 2012 - 21:54
I really liked the rhythm and rhyme to this!
No wasted words, nicely tight.
Reminded me too of my sister and I trying to cook (with little experience) for our grandmother while our parents had a break, when we were 'teens, and her suspicious comments on our burnt sausages that seemed rather pink (by contrast?) inside. Can't remember what happened to them.
Indrani Ananda | January 17, 2012 - 16:00
Indrani Ananda
Thanks for all your comments, fellow poets.
andrea | January 17, 2012 - 17:49
Hahaha - lovely. I've done exactly the same thing. Except once an irate neighbour threw a bucket of water over me embers :)
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