Game of Cones

I have a dog whose name is Spark

Who sometimes takes me to the park

Where we enjoy an evening stroll

I feed the ducks; he’s on patrol.

An old pro, Spark knows all the tricks

From playing dead to fetching sticks

His latest one involves a scheme

Which bags him loads of free ice cream.

He’ll spy a toddler on his own

Who’s struggling with a waffle cone

One far too big for little hands

And all the balance that demands.

Spark uses charm and big, brown eyes

To get him closer to the prize

Then as he nears these little ones

That’s when he grabs the cone and runs.

I’m deeply saddened by each theft

And every howl from the bereft

Whose double-scoops of lemon lime

Perpetuate this life of crime.

The mothers round on Spark and curse

So I make sure they’re reimbursed

Which throws the whole plan in reverse

For he was taught to steal a purse…

Less Cargo

SnailSnap Shows City Heat May Be Turning Snails Yellow - The Atlantic

Our friend, the snail, needs never pack

For all it owns is on its back

It heads out on the open road

Quite unencumbered by its load

Snails never need to book hotels

Instead they curl up in their shells

Emerging when they feel the need

To partake in an evening feed

We mock the snail, its sluggish pace

And yet some pay to watch them race

Ironic, say the French, and crude

Who view them solely as fast food

Branch Locator

Scientists Attempt to Make Monkeys Smarter by Adding a Human Gene | Science  Times

Without any apology

I traced my genealogy

In hope I’d find an entry

Replete with well-heeled gentry.

Perhaps a Duke without an heir

Yet to bequeath his titled lair

Or better yet a Duchess

Who’d keep me in her clutches.

I dreamed of billionaire tycoons

Who sipped and supped from silver spoons

Whose present state of wealth

Fared better than their health.

But no! I learned my great-great-gran

Was jailed because she shot a man

Who wooed her in a heath

Then ran off with her teeth.

Another ancestor trained bears

To ride on bikes and dance on chairs

Until they grew to hate him

I guess that’s why they ate him.

Much further back, one of our crowd

Could summon rain down from a cloud

But locals weren’t that smitten

Because they lived in Britain.

If you’ve swung through my family tree

Please have the cheque made out to me

Because this brachiator

Wants paying now, not later.

Much Ado

Hmmmmm... If my calculations are correct....Nah, I've got nothing. - Set  Phasers to LOL - sci fi fantasy

If you’re flat broke it’s said you’ve got

A fair amount of diddly-squat

And maybe more because this means

You also own a hill of beans

Which may forestall the need to beg

When added to your great goose egg

Combined with zero, zip and zilch

With all of this why would one filch?

Because if you give it more thought…

When you’ve got nought, there’s lots you’ve got

Secret Santa

The Office': Revisiting season 2's ill-fated Secret Santa | EW.com

The day before The Night Before
The office turned into a store
With gifts galore from Santa’s stock
At lunchtime, right on one o’clock

A furtive glance across the room
As someone tried to wrap perfume
A figure hunched behind a fern
(the new girl had a lot to learn)

A friend will cough to help a mate
Disguise the sound of Sellotape

Shirley’s eyes revealed a glint
Each time she dropped another hint
In knowing just what not to tell
She kept the weak under her spell

And Andy, bless him, the poor dear
Just hoped he’d get it right this year
For Sue, who longed for something French
He’d bought a Jean-Paul Gautier wrench

Old Davey Wilcox saved a packet
He thought the whole idea a racket
His gifts were met with trepidation
Bought at his local petrol station

All dreams of wintry escapades
Were dashed by half-price wiper blades

Still, pity those who drew Pru’s name
The dowager who ran the game
And claimed the true meaning had gone
Then priced her gift on Amazon

Big Tony came to stuff his face
So ate at an alarming pace
Before they wrapped it up for Luke
Whose wife was just as bad a cook

Stollen, edam, Toblerone
Belgian nougat in a cone
Baby Jesus, Heaven sent
Now came via the continent

I’ve seen several scars happen
Over a slice of marzipan

Paper plates now put aside
Each festive tummy satisfied
Fiona stood to give a toast
But belched up Captain Morgan’s ghost

So Lenny then began to lift
And sift until he found his gift
50 ml of CK One
Would do quite nicely for his son

Aww, it’s lovely… that’s so sweet
As girls are wont to coo and tweet
With every present they unwrap
And gaze upon whilst in their lap

Which makes guys pause and think a bit:
This Santa thing’s made me a hit
That perfume seemed to animate her
I’ll say ‘hi’ at the laminator

So Merry Christmas one and all
Be pleased you got a gift at all
Enjoy that glass of Triple Sec
In your new purple turtle neck

Present Tense

goat in Santa hat | Eden Hills

The day I want to bake some bread

You’ll be the first to know

Were you confused that time I said

I need to make more dough?

And should I wish to buy a goat

Around the holidays

Feel free to name it but take note

I’d like it honey-glazed.

A scented candle lets me know

Exactly what you think

You’re hoping when it’s all aglow

At last, my house won’t stink.

That weird liqueur with toads inside

Distilled by monks in France

Soon made me wish that I had died

Then made me shit my pants.

The Cookie Monster sweater seemed

To spread more disarray

On seeing it, the baby screamed

And both cats ran away.

Gym memberships address excess

With weights or on a mat

Do you think I need to de-stress

Or is it that I’m fat?

It’s not the gift, John, it’s the thought

While this, no doubt, is right

It’s what they’ve thought, not what they’ve bought

Which keeps me up at night.