A play on words at a village festival |
This was written in response to a prompt that was something to do with a local beer festival (can't remember exactly what, now). The idea is that if you say the first letter of each first name run into the whole of the surname, the result is representative of the state of the person. Not sure that it works, but I remember it being quite fun to try! *** The village green lolls, Drunk, under the poured beer, Dripping from over-full hands, Pouring from abandoned glasses, Lying on their sides in the grass. The worms have found themselves a rare treat, They come to the surface In spite of the heat, Weaving uneven paths On the sozzled earth. Deborah Runk from the village sssop, Wiff trays of sausages and cheese, Barely standing but trying to sherve, The needs of the local revellers. The postie, Terrence Rollayt Abandoned hish bike and bag, By the churchyard wall, And sitss in a crumpled heap of giggles, Incapashitated by local ale. The vicar, Rev. Oliver Leving, Ish chatting up Patrisha Isst, Ignoring s fact sat hiss rather fat wife, Ish stuck in her chair after tsoo many Pork pies and finger-eatsh Harold Angver-Tomara, the schoolmashter Hash just been turned down by Natalie Otadrop, the teetotal teacher. Another come-my-way pint, I reach from sss table, But I don’t think I can ssstand, Sho I think I’ll sssit here, And I would stell you more, But I can’t. You may undershtand if I stell you my name is Will Waystead (W.Ell Waystead!!) |