The Devil on the TreeA Poem by David Lewis PagetIt
was coming on up to Christmas When
I received an unusual text, ‘We’re
travelling round the country and We
thought we’d visit you next.’ It
was signed Giselle, the cousin from Hell, And
I shook right down to my boots, For
‘we’ meant daughter Annabelle Leigh With
a reputation to suit. I
think she was sired by a Demon down In
the Seventh Circle of Hell, She’d
never been smacked, not even a tap When
she’d scream, and shout and yell, Her
mother was one of those wussy types Who’d
studied psychology, Was
into behaviour models, rather Than
putting her over her knee. They
came with their bag and baggage, said They’d
only be here for a month, And
Annabelle Leigh went on a spree Spitting
all over our lunch, ‘Now
don’t be naughty,’ her mother said, ‘Or
you’ll make your uncle mad!’ ‘I
hate him!’ she said, looking at me, ‘You
tell him he’s not my Dad!’ I
thought, ‘Thank God for that!’ there are Small
mercies in this world, And
one, not being the father of This
hateful, spiteful girl, She
turned my home to a charnel house When
she cauterised the cat, Burning
the fur of my Burmese with A
basin of scalding fat. I
asked if ever she’d sought the help Of
a child psychologist, Giselle
just sat and she simpered, ‘Oh, She’s
never as bad as this! You
must have done something to worry her, Keep
calm, and try to be nice.’ But
I was too busy to answer, while Packing
the cat in ice. ‘Children
need to feel valued,’ said Giselle,
one day to me, But
I was stood by the window Watching
her kid ring-bark my tree, She
cut off the neighbour’s pony-tail As
she lay asleep on the deck, My
hands were jerking in spasms as I
thought of them round her neck. At
Christmas-time out shopping she Demanded
the best of dolls, Would
scream, and fill up the shopping cart With
fairies, dwarfs and trolls, But
when it was too expensive and Giselle
said, ‘Put it back!’ She’d
lie on the floor and hold her breath ‘Til
her face was almost black. On
Christmas Eve, I trimmed the tree At
about the midnight hour, As
I wrapped the various packages, I Could
feel her in my power, She
wouldn’t forget this Christmas was The
promise I made to me, For
two could play at the naughty game She’d
find out, Annabelle Leigh! I
took the fairy from the top Of
the tree that it had graced, Unwrapped
the special surprise I’d bought And
put it in her place, A
large black rubber devil with Red
eyes and a pair of horns, And
a tongue that sprung from its evil face For
a foot and a half or more. I’d
coated the tongue with Rapid-fix That
instant stick cement, And
added the smell of rotting flesh And
Burmese excrement, At
dawn, when Annabelle Leigh came down She
looked for the fluffy dog, But
when she opened the parcel it Was
just my exploding frog! The
frog was coated in treacle that Was
stuck to her hands and hair, She
got out a single scream before Her
mother came running there, The
spring released on the devil that Came
leaping out of the tree, Its
tongue flew out, and stuck to the lip Of
that darling, Annabelle Leigh. She
stared in the big black devil’s eyes As
it hung, and bounced from her lip, The
eyes popped out and revolved as well, Giselle
came out, and flipped, I
doubt they’ll ever drop in on me Again,
they left in a whirl, Annabelle
sees a psychiatrist, A
well behaved little girl! David
Lewis Paget © 2012 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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Added on November 22, 2012Last Updated on November 22, 2012 Tags: demon, naughty, psychologist, ring-barked Author
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