The Three Beetles and the Flashy Sash
Our story begins in the park, when three beetles scuttled through the piazza park proper. Three purple beetles.
African beetles, not British.
The April sun shone on the beetle backs.
A bright glare off beetle three caught the eye of the widow, Mrs.Q Buttle.
Mrs. Buttle the harelip.
Buttle, though nearly blind, had just bought a smashing new sash at Christian Dior.
She sailed toward the park with the silken sash trailing.
It was April. Daffodils and tulips were blooming.
This harelip loved tulips.
Bring in the beetles...
As she crossed the street, drunk on April sun and the promise of a garden wander,
beetle three’s back caught a sunny ray and held it.
Mrs. Buttle beheld it…
‘Why what's that strange spark near the gate of the park?’
A cab driving too fast,
a screech and a CRASH!
Catwalk couture landed on Abdel the Cabbie’s windscreen.
He braked sharply, the flashy red sash sailed.
The impact was gentle, Buttle never knew what hit her.
A flashy beetle, a flying Buttle, a frightened Moroccan cabbie.
Everyone in the butcher shop rushed over.
‘The harelip has been hit!’
‘Is she hurt?’
All of this unbeknownst to beetles one, two and three,
they had stopped causing accidents and reflecting rays.
They were off to eat some tulips--forget the guilt trip!
Abdel’s bumper had only gently thumped her bum.
She lay on the hood grinning at the shocked Moroccan.
‘Good god,’ he said, ‘Is she dead?’
The Butcher was first to act.
Since she seemed unhurt, he helped her off the hood
and looked under her sash for scrapes or gashes.
The butcher shoppers left the scene glad to see the widow well.
Alas, Abdel still felt quite awful, but the grin of the widow made him wonder…
The butcher left the duo, duty done,
He had other steaks to slice.
Mrs. Q B invited Abdel to join her for a promenade.
'Very much deserved if slightly delayed,'
said the cabbie with a sheepish smile...
Together they sailed through the gates of the park,
too busy chatting to notice in their wake,
three beetles battling tulip stomachache.
African beetles, not British.
The April sun shone on the beetle backs.
A bright glare off beetle three caught the eye of the widow, Mrs.Q Buttle.
Mrs. Buttle the harelip.
Buttle, though nearly blind, had just bought a smashing new sash at Christian Dior.
She sailed toward the park with the silken sash trailing.
It was April. Daffodils and tulips were blooming.
This harelip loved tulips.
Bring in the beetles...
As she crossed the street, drunk on April sun and the promise of a garden wander,
beetle three’s back caught a sunny ray and held it.
Mrs. Buttle beheld it…
‘Why what's that strange spark near the gate of the park?’
A cab driving too fast,
a screech and a CRASH!
Catwalk couture landed on Abdel the Cabbie’s windscreen.
He braked sharply, the flashy red sash sailed.
The impact was gentle, Buttle never knew what hit her.
A flashy beetle, a flying Buttle, a frightened Moroccan cabbie.
Everyone in the butcher shop rushed over.
‘The harelip has been hit!’
‘Is she hurt?’
All of this unbeknownst to beetles one, two and three,
they had stopped causing accidents and reflecting rays.
They were off to eat some tulips--forget the guilt trip!
Abdel’s bumper had only gently thumped her bum.
She lay on the hood grinning at the shocked Moroccan.
‘Good god,’ he said, ‘Is she dead?’
The Butcher was first to act.
Since she seemed unhurt, he helped her off the hood
and looked under her sash for scrapes or gashes.
The butcher shoppers left the scene glad to see the widow well.
Alas, Abdel still felt quite awful, but the grin of the widow made him wonder…
The butcher left the duo, duty done,
He had other steaks to slice.
Mrs. Q B invited Abdel to join her for a promenade.
'Very much deserved if slightly delayed,'
said the cabbie with a sheepish smile...
Together they sailed through the gates of the park,
too busy chatting to notice in their wake,
three beetles battling tulip stomachache.
posted by Camille at 11:01 am
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