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Tuesday
Morning - Mondayitis
By
Matt Bennetts
I
rolled around, I couldn't sleep, there was too much on my mind;
the rain outside was poking the roof at some unheard of time,
the wind laughed at my misery and flashed a red cape made of
leaves
to get me charging angrily, headlong into the trees.
And
what I should I find there? What did I see,
but Procrastanis speaking Gibberish in front of a settee
and on the ground there was a fire that was fuelled by the rain
and on a spit above it, paws held out to the flames
a
fireproof giraffe was serenading a frog
who sat a few metres away, atop a bucking log,
holding the hand of blind pig who saw everything
and minutes later beckoned me to the warmth of the clearing.
They
regaled me with stories, lies that turned out true,
'bout triangular centaurs, who upper halves were blue,
who live just west of yesterday - at number twenty-two
and who you can only visit when the moon is coloured blue.
The
Procrastanis were a funny race
And all their time just went to waste -
playing tiddly-winks with scrabble bits
and building home-made doctor's kits.
The
revelry continued as 'twas revealed they'd lost the plot,
it'd dropped out of the blind pig's pocket at some forgotten spot
and an announcement went across the group, a deputation had
arrived;
the Pun Lobby of the Hotel Lexicon, who wished us on their side.
The
stars came down to tell our futures and found they could not see,
on my palms they'd used invisible ink and they'd lost the leaves
of tea.
A gullible bunch, they were for sure, believing anything -
that cows go 'brrr', that trees go 'qwark', that paperweights go
'wing'.
Amidst
the living scenery, the fire made a toast
to the festivities and collective lunacy - which this group did
boast,
then it announced 'twas bedtime and with a sudden flurry
a thousand coloured blankets appeared in a magic hurry.
I
snuck off whilst they were all asleep
'cept the blind pig, who had a peek
and gave me a grin to put in my pocket
just 'fore I shot off like the proverbial rocket
And
made it home just in time to get up
with Mondayitis that Tuesday morn and me feeling stuffed;
a smile in my pocket as proof that I'd been
out in the rain at midnight at that fantastical scene.
The
Poet - Matt Bennetts
Matt
Bennetts is a 19 year old Australian, currently studying for his
Bachelor of Arts degree at University. He dreams of writing
for a living, and his hobbies include tennis and indoor
football. Matt is an avid reader.
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