The Black Pudding Hunt        by K J Walker   (Repost. Poetry For Schools)

 

It was during the great pork pie famine

Of nineteen seventy-one

When kids were all crying with hunger

And everyone suffered, bar none

With no cod in the chippy

We ate old kipper ties

The villagers were all hungry

And missing those water crust pies

 

They sent relief aid from Devon

When they heard about our sad plight

A 36 wheeler milk truck

Which journeyed right through the night

But the lorry, it crashed

Before reaching our village

A second disaster

The great custard spillage

 

Our fate, in our own hands

They turned to me, muggins

With a quest, to go hunting

And to catch some black puddings

I tried to refuse

But I heard my voice say

“Aye, go on then, I’ll do it”

“But, with Mimi-May”

 

Mimi-May was a flautist

Who had gained great repute

For the music she played

As she blew on her flute

So armed with that flute

And a bag, for our catch

We egressed the village

Through an old rhubarb patch

 

Now, we’ve all seen a black puddings

Like you get in the shops

But a wild one’s not like that

It has one leg. And it hops

And fast. I’m not kidding

When they bound out apace

You need guile just to catch ‘em

‘Cos you’d not win in a chase

 

So we needed the flute

‘Cos black pudds love a tune

Be it flute, or recorder

Oboe or bassoon

So we set up our trap

By the black puddings nest

Mimi-may played on her flute

While I did the rest

 

So as she coaxed ‘em out

With a sweet melody

I waited in ambush

At the side of a tree

Like the Pied Piper of Hamlin

Who drew out those rats

And I was to grab ‘em

As easy as that

 

I couldn’t keep my eyes open

Though I did try

But Mimi-May played

Such a sweet lullaby

The black puddings came out

Drawn to the sound

But I fell asleep

With my head on the ground

 

I know that I’m useless

Not really much cop

The black puddings came near me

And bounced off with a hop

Our chance had been missed

The black puddings were gone

It was only a slim chance

But now there was none

 

We sloped back to the village

Without any swag

Just one silver flute

And one empty bag

We retraced our tracks

Through the old rhubarb patch

And that’s when the idea

Started to hatch

 

Rhubarb can be tasty

I said in a mumble

When baked in a pie

Or even a crumble

So we did save the village

It was only bad luck

We didn’t have custard

Because of that truck