Tigers And Unusual Habitats Poem by Thomas Vaughan Jones

There’s a Tiger in the cupboard
at the bottom of our stairs,
and you’ll get a chance to see him
if you catch him unawares.

If you creep down really quiet,
you may chance a careful peep
through the keyhole of our cupboard
and you’ll see him fast asleep.

When he isn’t feeling hungry
he’s as friendly as can be.
He’ll sit still for simply ages
while I read him poetry.

And I never have to feed him
for I find he’s quite content
just to snack on bill collectors,
or the men who come for rent.

Or the double glazing salesmen,
and those vacuum cleaner men.
They all disappear completely
and are never seen again.

Not to mention all those poets
who refuse to write in rhyme.
They seem to whet his appetite.
He scoffs them every time.

Regretfully it seems I have
misplaced the mother-in-law.
She was keen to find what secrets
lay behind our cupboard door.

I asked my friend the Tiger
if perhaps she’d ventured in.
He responded with a knowing wink.
and self contented grin.