Mad Tea Party
No gate crashers allowed!
I planned a feast, just him and me,
A little afternoon party
To catch up on our kith and kin.
To my surprise, they all came in!
He'd called them all, invited them
To my snug and cosy den
For mirth and fun and deviltry!
And then... he SPILLED THE TEA.
Aunts and uncles, cousins, flocks
From valleys, canyons, sticks and rocks
In claw to form a family band!
I cannot fathom, understand
How this was right in any way
To bring them all to MY soirée!
Why on earth do that to me?
And then... he SPILLED THE TEA.
Oh dear! Oh my! I'm horror-struck!
My tea-time guests have run amock!
Swear-roars hurt my delicate ears,
Pterodactyls swing on chandeliers!
What did you say? What did you do?
How much shampoo must I go through
To spot-clean this enormity?
And then... he SPILLED THE TEA.
How did this all become MY fault?
To have some Compsognathi vault
My lovely chaise lounge, clean and neat-
And biscuit crumbs on every seat!
I wanted a small tête-à-tête
Not relatives from every state!
Why invite them all, prithee?
And then... he SPILLED THE TEA.
Stop this nonsense! Stop it now!
I will not stand this rowdydow!
Clean up your messes! All of you!
This monstrous raucous hullabaloo
Shall cease! Here is a mop, and here's a shovel,
Turn this messy broken hovel
Back to my den, so nice and clean!
And then... he SPILLED THE TEA.
And you! Your rudeness started this!
How could you interrupt my bliss?
An easy afternoon repast
Destroyed completely, it was fast!
Impertinent, thoughtless, presumptuous!
You're such an ingrate, Ignoramus!
Why spurn my generosity?
And then... he SPILLED THE TEA.
Oh, biscuits!
About the Creator
Meredith Harmon
Mix equal parts anthropologist, biologist, geologist, and artisan, stir and heat in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, sprinkle with a heaping pile of odd life experiences. Half-baked.
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Compelling and original writing
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The story invoked strong personal emotions
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More stories from Meredith Harmon and writers in Poets and other communities.
- Runner-up in Poemosaurus Rex Challenge
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The dream always starts the same: I feel the cold bite of wind gnawing through clothes entirely inadequate to protect from the weather and I realize I am standing in line. Ahead of me and behind me are other inmates, identified by the burgundy scrubs we were issued upon arrival. I don't know where we're going.
By Kyle Cejka5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
That was a lotta tea.
Hahahahahahhhhahaha this made me laugh so much! Loved your poem!
Delightful! Love this poem so much. You gave me so many smiles and giggles throughout.