The Picnic
It’s a lovely summer’s day; we’ve laid our picnic on the ground,
There’s Mother, Auntie Vera, John, and Jazz, our mongrel hound,
We’ve lemonade and salad, with some crusty home cooked bread,
Strawberries too, and clotted cream, a really lovely spread,
Then “Bzzzz” - a wasp lands on my head; I jump up in the air,
My lemonade goes flying; lunch is scattered everywhere,
Mother’s swearing at the wasp; her words are quite obscene,
My husband calmly helps himself, to strawberries, and cream,
The wasp decides to settle next on Auntie Vera’s arm,
She yells; my husband says “calm down, it won’t do any harm,”
He adds a bit more cream and grumbles “Such a cabaret,”
It won’t hurt you, just ignore it; it will likely fly away,”
Auntie Vera’s apoplectic now; she starts to shout and cuss,
My husband’s getting stroppy “Will you not make such a fuss,”
Then he yells so loudly that his florid face contorts,
As the wasp that ‘just won’t hurt you’ finds its way into his shorts...
©Jan Jack’s Perfect Verse 2010
