The Entymologist Poem by Ashley Akari

Able Ptolemy Gideon Crombold
Was an odd little man, sparse and bald:
He wore pince-nez and favoured black:
His dress was neat as a polished tack.
His eyes were cold-—he ne’er smiled at all-
Said life was a “terribly boring funeral”:
But one passion had he to spark his fires—
A peculiar hobby shared by his sires.
For all his quirky, weird joy was found
In sticking bugs in a book (leather-bound) .
And his dreams were thick with butterflies
And the only song he heard was the crickets’ cries.

* * * * *

One dreary Autumn day,
Able Esquire felt particularly grey.
He placed an ice-pack on his throbbing head,
Lamented the ache and went to bed.
Alas! The moment he closed his fluttering eyes,
He was swamped by a host of butterflies,
And malevolent beetles and weevils too
And shiny black ants in ranks of two!
He leapt from his bed with a piercing scream
To find that the dream wasn’t a dream!
The butterflies and the beetles,
The little black ants and the weevils
Were streaming from the ‘SPECIMEN’ books
And casting him vengeful, dirty looks:
And Able realised with alarm
The creatures meant to do him harm!
With piercing screams and desperate calls
He squashed the insects on the walls,
The ceiling and the carpeted ground—
Wherever the monsters could be found!
But still they came in twos and threes,
Crawled over his head and bit his knees,
Scrambled over his hands and over his feet
And poured out of the window, onto the street!
Bravely he fought them, loudly and long
But eventually the revengeful throng
Tackled poor Able to the ground
And gave him a beating, sore and sound:
And from his waistcoat they did gnaw
Long threads to bind him to the floor:
And when they bound him did begin
To torment him with a long steel pin
(Just the type he had often used
To secure the insects he had abused)
At last when he could scream no more
They left him and flew out the door:
And Able-with a moaning sound-—
Consulted the first doctor to be found.
The learned man said ‘twould be best
He cease impaling innocent pests:
A bruised and battered Able agreed
And with many moving tears decreed
(Swearing on his ancestor’s reverend name)
That Able Crombold should never again
Impale an insect or cause it pain.