Yes I know, I missed it!
Today is Wednesday, and sadly the deadline for Magpie Tales is Tuesday. Despite my aforementioned excuse, I really should have posted. The thing is, I didn't find the prompt very...inspiring. No insult to willow or the shoes.
But now I am free of my academic chains for a whole three months, I shall get down to the very strict business of writing.
Ah yes, that forgotten word.
I have never missed a Magpie yet (I count it among one of my greater accomplishments considering my acutely tiny attention span). I don't count a day late as missing it, as long as it gets posted at all, so I will try something.
hairy as a yeti, stocky as a hobbit
big foot, left foot, they don't even stock it!
your feet are so big they don't fit in the car
your shoes are so enormous, leather shouldn't stretch that far!
but with a pair of teensy heels, you can be the fool
squeezing swollen ankles into pig trotter lumps
you think you look cool
Here's the sad truth, it's untrue you look nice
your red cheeks make your arms look like boiled rice
you look like a lobster three days dead in the sun
you can't even walk, let alone run
you totter and titter at your helpless state
no one can help you, they'd collapse with the weight
your support yourself on your umbrella with stains
it's so crushed outwards it can't stop the rain
you waddle and wallop people aside
never even changing your stride
it's a fact of life people get in your way
they would, when you eat the whole buffet
When your put on your pinch-toe shoes,
I can't help but giggle and watch you lose
what's left of your dignity, (not much to start)
your fat is in layers right down to your heart
some hearts are frozen, waiting to be thawed
but your heart is stuffed with acres of straw
if you were a scarecrow, you'd feed forty cows
not to mention three donkeys, four hens, and ten sows
you are funny to watch, but thrice super-sized
means you are a walking hamburger waiting to die
when you go, it won't be without a fight
on your way down you'll suffocate twenty knights
all the king's men and his horses too
can't even begin to consider moving you
they'd slip a disc or rupture their spine
or whatever happens when you try to roll a giant swine
you'd lie there and rot, the birds would pick you clean
there'd be a giant graveyard where you and the knights had been
and on the ground at the tip of your knee
they'd find a pair of little shoes under the cheery tree
they'd figure out that you had died of skeletal overdrive,
if not for the shoes, you'd still be alive.
it just goes to show
they don't make them in your size for a reason, you know!