Auntie Maud by Terry Reilly Rhyming poem for a child. writing prompt entry |
Tommy said, “I feel quite ill, I’ll have to leave it up to Bill.” Mummy frowned, “what’s up, my lad? I can’t believe you feel so bad.” “Last night’s chicken meal looked blue, and tasted just a bit like poo." “We all ate that dish,” said mum, “and we don’t have an upset tum.” Tommy’s brother, Bill, said, “well, my poo this morning had a smell like Grandad’s old brown slippers, or when Grandma makes us kippers.” Mum began to smell a rat – just in her mind, not really that! Could the twins be telling fibs? Sometimes they were naughty sibs. “Maybe, boys,” they heard her say, “you can’t face Auntie Maud today. It’s only once a month we go. She’s lonely and she loves you so.” Tommy snorted, pulled a face, “she smells of mothballs, unwashed lace. She slobbers on my cheeks and head, her nose is green her eyes are red.” Mummy knew she’d worked it out. Swinging the lead, without a doubt. She looked at Bill, “so what’s your beef?” “Auntie’s got such rotten teeth, her breath smells bad, beyond belief. I just can't take it, oh, good grief! And when she makes us eat her mash, pieces cling to her moustache.” Mummy said, “you’re so unkind, that lovely lady’s nearly blind. When you’re both in advancing years mean words like those would bring on tears.” Mum stood and looked from left to right. “Auntie Maud ‘phoned here last night. She told me Uncle Bob was there with cousins Charlie, Chris and Clare. The triplets want to play with you, then all go visit London Zoo.” My, what a change in mood took place, each twin had grins upon his face. “Well, whoopy-doop,” chirped Bill with joy, his brother chortled, “boy, oh boy.” Mum smiled and gently shook her head, “pity you’re both ill,” she said. The boys piped up, no longer glum, “we’re feeling so much better, Mum!”
|
| ©
Copyright 2025.
Terry Reilly
All rights reserved. Terry Reilly has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |