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Toenails
Have you seen my brother's toenails?
They're perfectly uncouth.
His left foot's grown so solid
That it's formed some kind of hoof.
You know those mangy pigeons,
With feet all curled and long?
Well, picture those, but browner,
And you might not be far wrong.
There's things that live beneath them
Which no scientist has named.
The helpless beasts won't show themselves,
Poor things, they're too ashamed.
There was a day we cut them,
After hours of persuading.
'Though to tell the truth, Dad pinned him down,
So actually we made him,
So we tried it with the clippers,
And we hammered and we drilled,
And we hacked them with the bread knife,
Although Mum was not too thrilled.
Then finally - we'd made it!
Every nail had dropped to floor!
We can't be sure what did it,
But suspect it was the saw.
However, close inspection
Found the stumps to still be brown,
And where he'd lost that extra length
His shoes slopped up and down.
So now when foot's removed from shoe,
And claws 'merge from beneath,
We simply know it could be worse -
Have you SEEN the state of his teeth?
by Becci Murray
Spare time: Sit around writing stuff like this. If nothing else it's a good excuse to not get any work done. (It's also kind of fun!)
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