NaPoWriMo 2016 - Day 21 - Poem from a minor character in a fairy tale.

Oh Grandma

Well m'dears,
I never fancied a care home, or
meals on wheels.
With a shrivelled up lump
Of God's knows what.
Delivered twice a day.

But I'm blessed.
With family who
look after me,
in their own way.
My daughter sends her girl
every couple of day with a basket full of "goodies".

I don't know who is more feckless mind.
Her mother who dresses her up
in a stupid red cape.
Or the child who can't follow
simple instructions.
Go straight to grandma's cottage.
Do not talk to strangers.

Anyhoo, I lay there,
my stomach thinking
my throats been cut.
When I here a knock at the door.
I remind the idiot child
the door is on the latch.
My hips too dodgy to be getting up and down.
This suspect looking character
saunters in.
All big eyes, big ears, big teeth
Now I'm old, but no fool
I says "you're a..."

Before I've got a word out.
That great slathering beast
Gobbles me up.
Not so much a by your leave
No one respects their elders these days.

To add insult to injury.
He starts cavorting about
In MY nightie.
Now, I'm not one to judge
What a slathering beast does
Behind closed doors is his own affair.
But it was my best flannelette
He ripped the buttons right off, the brute.

Half an hour later my granddaughter,
Little miss take your own sweet time comes along.
Now I've mentioned she's not
the sharpest ax in the woodshed.

Well she gives Mr Wolf, my cake, my wine.
Then, after his washed that down, THEN, she gets an inkling something MIGHT be amiss.
I can hear all this from the cavernous belly of the wolf.

Oh grandma what BIG eyes, ears, teeth, you know the story.
Is she blind?
His a 6ft humanoid wolf.
In drag.
I'm 4ft nothing.
I've bounced that girl since she was a babe in arms.
Ok, perhaps once or twice I MAY have dropped her on her head.
But to not recognise her own grandmother.

Well long story short
There is a scuffle
A local arborist is passing.
Sweeps in saves the day.
Gives old wolfy a taste of cold steel.
Felling him from crown to toe.
I flop out like a wriggling infant.

I've come to see it,
as a rebirth.
A second chance of life if you will.
I'm carpe dieming and seizing what fishes I can catch.
I've sold the cottage, me and Sven the wandering arborist are shacking up together.
People say it's shocking
That he's only after me for my money.
But it beats feckless family or sheltered accommodation
Plus I've got a nice fur stole
Much more fetching than a Red Riding Hood.