Said Fred to Albert Finnegan,

'I'm bored, let's swipe a car again.'

'To let you drive,' young Bert replied,

'To me sounds more like suicide.'

Instead, Fred turned to pretty Sue,

Possessed of beauty, but not a clue

Of common sense, though plenty pride;

So she replied, 'I'd love a ride.'

The streets they toured until they found

An unlocked Daimler; looking round,

Make sure they're not observed by cop,

The doors they ope', posh seats in flop.

'This is the life for me,' from Fred's big mouth.

Sweet Sue enjoined him, 'Quickly for the south

Before the owner comes, and starts to wail,

And every pig in town is on our tail.'

So turn of key, the monster springs to life,

But life for two inside's, on edge of knife.

Off handbrake, in the clutch, the back wheels spin,

There's burning rubber — brrm brrm brrm, what din!

The noise, indeed, alerts the owner too

On port-a-phone he asks the p'lice to do

Their very best his precious car to save

And in the process, to arrest the knave.

But stupid Fred by now is far away,

Through country village — every dog his day;

For narrowly the village cop they miss,

Who phones, the registration no. to hiss.

And on through rural lane they careless speed,

Not bicycles nor pedestrians they heed,

Too fast they turn a bend, too late they know

A herd of cattle blocks the way they go.

The Daimler's brakes mad Fred he then applies,

No driver he, though to control he triessss

But broadside on they skid across the loke

Until their near-side hits a fine old oak.

In second split Fred jumps clear of the car,

For smoke inside means that he can't see far

But lovely Sue's held fast by stoved-in steel,

And Fred's too scared of fire inside to feel.

The herdsman, 'spite of fear, comes up to aid,

And sees already that the fire has made

Sue's clothing burn, as also does her hair,

Though catching fire himself, he pulls her clear.

A police car now appears: 'Help's on the way,

It seems that we're to late to save the day.

They look too bad for us to try First Aid,

As often happens — guilty one's not paid.'

Before the beak, Fred's called a naughty boy,

For he's too young a sentence to employ;

Though hard he tries, he can't avoid a grin,

As free he goes, pays nothing for his sin.

But as for Sue, her beauty's gone for ever,

Though surgeons grafted skin, they never

Had chance to to mend her looks, restore her pride,

She fears outside to venture — stays inside.

Sweet Sue, she was our one and only child,

And though it's true she often did run wild,

Her mum and I (we loved her — love her yet),

Now try our best to help her to forget.

'Twas not to Sue alone that Fred brought pain,

The herdsman too will never work again.

Poetry and Prose Archives

Len (Snowie) Baynes

22.03.07 Front Page

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