"Competition of the Week" story # 10

Lewiston, Maine           October 6, 2001

The Obese Pigeon

Once upon a nighttime cozy, as I mumbled and mosied,
With my shadow thrown, by the light of the fridges dome, upon the kitchen floor
I rummaged for a savory dish, something daring yet delisch,
As some old meat I stood poking, quickly there came a creepy croaking,
As of something horribly choking, choking behind my pantry door.
Tis probably a tiny mouse, said I, a tiny mouse behind my pantry door,
Tis that and nothing more.

Loaded up with bread, mildly moldy, and cheese and meat
I grabbed a bottle of milk, lightly lumpy, and moved my feet,
Heading for the warped and worn wooden pantry for some other tidbit to eat,
Eagerly expecting a meager entreaty from a leftover culinary feat,
But as opening the door I stood hoping, I noticed a gray mass inside moping,
My person its nasty eye was scoping, scoping for some tasty treat.
Egad! said I, What the devil is that eyeing my meat? Git mammal! beat it! beat!

As at each other we stood staring, I couldnt take its ghastly glaring,
Sweat began profusely pouring off my brow to the far-off flooring,
As I shook, terribly trembling, its stomach started roughly rumbling
Then I departed, feverishly fleeing, abandoning my snacks to this bastardly being.
Awhile later I peeked in to deplore, on my snacks that were mine no more.
This evil thing I felt like kicking, surely large roadkill it was mimicking,
Perched greedily licking, licking the spill from oft my kitchen floor!
Quoth the obese pigeon, Feed Me More.

Even now I cant be sure, but I think I heard it faintly whisper,
Ill get you, and your lettuce crisper.
My appetite, once so omnipotent, shriveled from this pudgy portent
Ha! My lettuce crisper you say, maybe on my dying day, but not before!
Equipped with a French loaf I began following, its skull I had a mind for hollowing,
At first impact it began swallowing, swallowing the loaf down to the core!
Quoth the obese pigeon, Feed Me More.

I slowly backed away, arms forward, flat palms pointed its way.
You happy? said I, You miserable beast of lore.
Now stay put! Stay! I Staaaay! I wish to see you no more!
Ive had, most certainly, enough chills to last many days more.
I sat, not-so restfully reclining, haven given up my dreams of dining
When came the characteristic chiming, chiming of that thing of lore.
Quoth the obese pigeon, Feed Me More.

With the creeps, willies and general spooks so enveloping
I pray, if I just get through the day, tomorrow will be for coping.
I head off to bed, wrought with weakness, close to collapsing, across the floor
But as into the kitchen I tip-toe, with relief I see not my foe.
Finally, rest will be the panacea for this beaky paramecium of my soul.
Into my bedroom chamber, I tense and turn, but what for?
A low rumble is forming, and into my head the sound is boring,
My house-guest appears to be snoring, snoring under my comforter!
Quoth the obese pigeon, in its sleep, Feed Me More.

I prepare to depart, with rancid resignation, to the store
To appease and ease this feathery loaf into satiation
But a plot begins hatching, as I hear a subtle scratching at my door.
In trudges an alley cat, freakishly fat, wet with salivation.
Immediately it starts over-powering my foe who, to my delight, is cowering
And soon the cat is devouring, devouring the devourer of my food reservoir.
Quoth the alley cat, Feed Me More.

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