Mrs. Bealsey Blunder Poem by Amy J Richardson

Mrs. Bealsey Blunder,
Was all wrinkles, hair and warts.
And she had a face like thunder,
When the kids were playing sports.

When a kick went wide,
She'd appear in her shawl
All the children ran to hide,
And she'd lock away their ball.

If it dropped in her garden,
They knew they'd crossed the line.
You'd hear her old face harden,
As she dialled nine-nine-nine.

The police weren't sympathetic,
They said that Bealsey was a pain,
Told her off for being pathetic,
Shouted not to call again.

Well she put up quite a fight,
She screeched and slammed the door,
When things did not go right,
She'd spit her dummy on the floor.

She ought not to be cruel,
And she didn't have to shout.
Or be as stubborn as a mule,
For that did no good no doubt.

So the children played their game,
With their brand new shining ball,
And we do not need to name,
She who frowned upon them all.

-

Ten years or more have passed,
The kids are now in charge,
Old Bealsey should be gone at last
But gosh! She's still at large!

This serves as a reminder
That even when she's gone,
In every street you'll find her,
A Bealsey Blunder still lives on.