by Nick Gisburne
I peep beneath the benches of the bus
And poke my special dagger, just in case
With tiny, squeaky squeals of fear and fuss
Ferocious little fairies punch my face
A pretty pair of pixies tries to hide
Their wings betray them, fluttering with fright
A foul-mouthed, filthy goblin, squat and wide
Proclaims a clumsy curse, to start a fight
Too terrified to hazard an escape
A silver sprite, surrendered, sits and sighs
I bind them all, with strips of tartan tape
They know the game is up - I’m twice their size
The Elf Express is free, or so they thought
But those without a pass are always caught
