Throgmorton

We recently added a new member to the Addicted to Limericks group on Facebook.  Her name – or at least her nom de plume - is RoZita Berry, and she is very talented with a wicked sense of humor.

Here is a non-Limerick poem she posted this past weekend:

The Ballad of Mr. Throgmorton

Mr. Throgmorton was a mean old man
who lived at the end of my street
he hated flowers and butterflies and birds
and anything pretty or sweet.

Carolers he would kick off his front stoop:
"Stop making that infernal racket!"
At Halloween we kids would t.p. his yard
and throw eggs at his window to crack it.

Mrs. Delaney, his neighbor next door,
took pity upon this old fart
She was certain that some fine day
she could soften his stony old heart.

One spring day to the hospital he went
for to cure his sleeping apnea
Mrs. Delaney looked at his bare front yard
saying, "I've a wonderful idea!"

And she transplanted flowers from her own garden
into old Throgmorton's lawn
and soon, lo, the other neighbors joined with her
a strange sight to look upon!

And when he came home, she awaited him there
with cookies and pastries and pies
and lilies and tulips, petunias and pansies
drawing birds, bees and butterflies!

"What is the meaning of this?" he roared
as he nearly fell down on his kiester
"What's all this crap? Does this yard of mine
look like some kinda basket for Easter?"

And taking his cane, he thrashed all around
and smashed every pie and cake
then thwapped at each sapling, flower and bush
Mrs. D. realized her mistake!

A week or so later, I rode by on my bike
and noticed a wondrous smell;
it came from Mr. Throgmorton's back yard
something cooking, far as I could tell.

The fence 'round the backyard was too high for me
so I climbed up into a tree
and saw him down there at an outdoor grill
and I couldn't believe it was he!

He was stirring at something in a big pot
over a low-burning flame
and it smelled delicious, I had to admit
and my hunger I couldn't quite tame.

Then all of a sudden he looked up
and caught sight of me up on that limb;
"Hey boy! Come down and have supper with me!"
he exclaimed...this couldn't be him!

Yet there he was smiling, this crazy old man
who'd so trashed his welcome-home party;
Inviting me now to dinner with him
and grinning so friendly and hearty?

Well, I told myself to get out of there quick
what if he was some kind of perv?
But my stomach growled like an angry pit bull
as I tried to work up my nerve.

Then suddenly the branch on which I was crouched
gave way beneath all my weight
and first thing you know there I was in his yard
I didn't even have to use the gate!

And first thing you know I was seated right there
at his back yard picnic table
Where he'd placed a big wooden bowl before me
which he filled with a large wooden ladle.

It was some sort of stew, beef I supposed
with onions, potatoes and rice
and peppers and carrots, okra and corn
hot and spicy--it sure tasted nice!

"I'm sorry for all the bad things I did,"
I said as I glanced at the pot.
"Boys will be boys," he replied with a grin,
"I was one once, believe it or not."

I wondered what brought about his change of heart
and thought, "Maybe miracles are true!"
as he brought out a fine-looking loaf of white bread
and dished me up some more stew.

Then he broke out a lovely big chocolate cake
with white icing with butterfly design.
"I baked this myself!" he beamed as he cut it
and a shiver ran over my spine.

"Mrs. Delaney didn't make it?" I said,
and sadly he shook his head;
"She's moved away, lad, I fear; I've not seen her
for many a morning," he said.

Weeks went by with no sign of her
which I thought was a terrible shame.
Some spoke of foul play, but I doubted that;
who'd waste such a nice old dame?

Yet her whereabouts are a mystery still
no one seems to know what to do;
and I think of her often, but wonder also
what sort of meat *was* in that stew?