3.Boris Snot, the Horrible and Vile
with fluffy clouds
and sun,
and features one who
just about
was feared by everyone:
for local ogre, Boris Snot
the Horrible and Vile
looked every inch
a monster
with his grotty,
beastly style.
At eight foot tall
with mottled skin
and voice so very
loud,
his gruffness
frightened folk
and Boris stood
out in a crowd.
Yet Boris was a
nice guy
and just craved a
quiet life;
to have a break
from pitchfork mobs
and other sorts of
strife.
Upon the outskirts
of the town
this ogre lived
alone.
His hobbies were
philately
and trad jazz
saxophone.
His garden was a
beauty
where he spent so
many hours
in the borders
planting daffodils
and other stunning
flowers.
On Saturdays he’d
pop down to the shops
and pay his bills,
scare everybody
witless
at the supermarket
tills,
then off he’d
stomp towards the park
to look for peace
and quiet
but every time he
got there
it would end up in
a riot.
“I only want to
sniff the roses,”
Boris used to say,
while chaos
reigned with screaming folk
so keen to get
away.
This constant mad
hysteria
began to get him
down
and Boris felt
unwanted in
this weird little
town.
“I wish I had a
friend
to talk of
flowers, stamps and jazz.
We’d go for walks,
do crosswords, jigsaws;
all that razzmatazz
…”
Then on her broom
Old Sal flew by
and caught his
every word.
She thought about
his friendship plea
which didn’t seem
absurd.
And as she liked a
challenge
knew exactly what
to do:
she’d change them
all to ogres
(make them loud
and grotty too).
So with an
incantation
and a wave of wand
as well,
the town was
filled with ogres
at the end of
Spooky’s spell.
There were ogres
in the library
and ogres in the
schools.
Inside a shop with
necklaces,
an ogre sold
bright jewels.
In gyms, the ogres
lifted weights
admiring with
affection
their massive
lumpy bodies
posing by their
own reflection.
The police as
ogres found it hard
to fit inside
their cars.
At ballet classes,
ogres dressed in tutus
looked bizarre.
The joggers,
grannies, postmen,
nurses, doctors
and farm workers,
the vicar, King
and Queen
and some
occasional work shirkers,
at once
transformed and looked like Boris,
large and out of
place,
with mottled greenish skin, big feet
big ears and
gormless face.
Said Sal “I’ll
leave them for an hour
and then remove
the charm.
By then they’ll
realise most ogres
do nobody harm.”
And she was right,
as while they waited
for the hour to
pass,
our Boris took his
saxophone
and played upon
the grass
some soothing jazz
which calmed folk down
and made then
chilled and mellow
until some ogres
joined in playing
oboe and a cello.
Then as the concert finished
and the ogres
clapped and cheered,
they changed back
to their former selves
as people
reappeared;
except for one who
stood out
and was different
from the crowd
which realised how
mean they’d been,
so sang for him
quite loud:
“Dear Boris, we
are sorry
and we’d like to
make amends.
We hope that
you’ll forgive us
for we want to be
your friends.”
And so this
chapter ended
with a bit of jazz
con brio
as Boris played
the saxophone
within his music
trio.
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