by Nick Gisburne
We trace the pungent pixie to his nest
A pitiful, polluted little hole
He skips around a toadstool, barely dressed
Preparing supper: beetle brains and coal
Embarrassed to be caught without a shirt
He drops a dish of desiccated fleas
But, winking at us both, begins to flirt
Until we kick him, crying, to his knees
The silly creature begs to be released
And sobs with tiny, luminescent tears
He asks us why we interrupt his feast
“We’re bailiffs, come to repossess your ears
Your debt is due, so please, before you scoff
Pay up, pay now, or snip-and-snap, they’re off”
