Piffle

Once

a pun a time

saved nine

~~!~~

 Written for the Word of the Day Challenge: Piffle, I present to you part 1 of a 1 part series of short poetry. Each part highlights a single aspect of the nonsense embodied by the word Piffle.

This is both the first and the last poem in a short series which is too sad to make a sandwich, or even to be buttered. It curls alone on the plate, drying to a crisp while readers glance toward it, then look away quickly, embarrassed to witness the shame of this small, tragic pun.

“Take pity,” croaks Pun, its eyes growing hazy, but Pity has changed its name to Party and is celebrating the excellence of metaphor, meter and rhyme. It’s drunk too much wine and has no time for humble Pun, who disconsolately chews a few crumbs of humble pie, a single tear falling from its eye. Just when I think it is losing consciousness, it catches sight of me. It points the withered tail of its P in my direction, and with its dying breath it cries:

“She’s to blame. She made me.”

Fortunately nobody is listening. They’re either at the party, enjoying great poetry, or this nonsense has lulled them to sleep.

I see my mistake now, but I think I’ve got away with it. The poem should say:

Once

a pun in time

saved nine.

THAT makes perfect sense.

.

 ©Jane Paterson Basil