Dec 2019
OUR 'ARRY
He nonchalantly
ambled in from
the garden
on Christmas Eve's eve.
Curled up by the fire
into a ball and then
promptly fell asleep
like a Christmas present
waiting for the great
day to happen.
And so, what we had only seen
in an illustration from a Ladybird book
became the real
living thing.
A hedgehog of
our own
at once christened
'Arry...our 'Arry!
We oohed and ahhhed
so loudly we
awoke him
with a start.
And with that his fleas
left him en masse
swarming like a Biblical
plague
until he shrank
to half his size.
I screamed.
Me Ma screamed.
The dog barked nervously.
The cat yawned "Like...yeah...so what?"
And so without much ado
our 'Arry was returned
to the wild from whence
he came
bundled into a Kellogg's Cornflakes box
the cornflakes dumped upon the table top.
The horror movie of his fleas
fleeing
still playing in my head
over fifty years later.
Our 'Arry gone back
into the dark.
He nonchalantly
ambled in from
the garden
on Christmas Eve's eve.
Curled up by the fire
into a ball and then
promptly fell asleep
like a Christmas present
waiting for the great
day to happen.
And so, what we had only seen
in an illustration from a Ladybird book
became the real
living thing.
A hedgehog of
our own
at once christened
'Arry...our 'Arry!
We oohed and ahhhed
so loudly we
awoke him
with a start.
And with that his fleas
left him en masse
swarming like a Biblical
plague
until he shrank
to half his size.
I screamed.
Me Ma screamed.
The dog barked nervously.
The cat yawned "Like...yeah...so what?"
And so without much ado
our 'Arry was returned
to the wild from whence
he came
bundled into a Kellogg's Cornflakes box
the cornflakes dumped upon the table top.
The horror movie of his fleas
fleeing
still playing in my head
over fifty years later.
Our 'Arry gone back
into the dark.
***
Yet another poem pulled from my subconsciousness by the machinations of that Lisa Kelly of the Torriano Meeting House writing workshop who by the simple means of pulling a ******* with a hedgehog with a hat delivering a Christmas present plunged me into this memory of days gone by in the long ago of being a child. Half of our 'Arry's body weight being fleas abandoning the body of their host for the warmth of an Irish turf fire still haunts me.
Yet another poem pulled from my subconsciousness by the machinations of that Lisa Kelly of the Torriano Meeting House writing workshop who by the simple means of pulling a ******* with a hedgehog with a hat delivering a Christmas present plunged me into this memory of days gone by in the long ago of being a child. Half of our 'Arry's body weight being fleas abandoning the body of their host for the warmth of an Irish turf fire still haunts me.
