Nick John Whittle
The First Call - Poem by Nick John Whittle
When Granma Mo breathed out her last
With the sun in west descent
My dad he phoned old Prendergast
‘Cause he discounts ten percent.
As it came about they were delighted
They’d come within the hour
Still, dad went up to Granma’s room
And turned off all the power.
The ten percent he’d take away
Made Prendergast seem humane
But then consider he sent his skivvies
Who each had half a brain.
The maths aside, dad’s stingy choice
Stood there upon our doormat:
A gelatinous man with foghorn voice
And friend in a big top hat.
At Granma’s room they shut the door
And all the while they did
I wondered where they’d put her pearls
Or would they have them hid?
We stood downstairs all quiet and still
While to Granma the skivvies attended
Then Mum she said to poor old dad
The loo he could have mended.
When at last with huff and puff and shouts
The men approached the stair
The big one coughed and laughed and said:
Put your back into it, mare!
But then Mare lost his footing proper
And tumbled on his side
And the man who laughed and coughed a lot
Came with him far and wide.
In no time at all, they came to ground
With Granma wrapped around them
They picked her up and broke a sprint:
Off she took ad infinitum!
The funeral was held on Tuesday last
The lesson, dad said, was haughty
He’ll never more ask Prendergast
Unless his discount’s forty.
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