Sunday, June 24, 2012


Ones upon a thyme
In a furry tail close by
Lived a poor boy named Jack
He lived with his mother & father somewhere in the nowhere of Inchoate
His parents were adze-makers, that is, they made adzes don’t you know
His mother & father were so busy they sent Jack outdoors to play
His only toys were some rocks and a couple of broken adzes
His only companion was a crow named Bossy, whom he loved dearly
The only trick Bossy knew was how to foul Jack’s hand as he held her

Since they sold no adzes that day (nor any day for quite some thyme)
There was no food for supper
“Jack,” sighed his harried mother, “We are so hungry we might have to eat  crow”
“Oh, no harried mother,” exclaimed Jack, “Not my only friend Bossy”
“Well, then,” fretted the harried mother, “Tomorrow you must sell Bossy at the fair”
With that they ate Jack’s rocks and went to their thread-bare little beds

The next day was very gloomy, not uncommon for Inchoate, and Jack set out for the fair
There he met an out-of-work vaudeville actor dressed in a rumpled tuxedo and top hat
“What have you there, my fine lad?” asked the actor
“This is a very fine crow and my only friend, Bossy,” responded Jack politely, as he had been taught
“Let me have a look,” replied the actor, carefully perusing the bovine-named bird
“I’ll tell you what, lad, I will trade you this very fine walking stick for the bird,” offered the actor
“My name is Jack, sir, not Lad as I am not a dog,” corrected the boy
“Jack it is, then, how about a swap?” cajoled the actor
“It doesn’t seem right to me, exchanging my Bossy for a mere stick,” frowned Jack
“Ah, lad, err, Jack, this is not an ordinary stick, of course not: it is magic!” murmured the actor
“Magic?” and with that the deed was done and done

“Harried mother, harried mother, look what I have brought home from the fair,” exclaimed Jack
But his harried mother was not happy with her son’s exchange
She was even less happy after Jack had told his whole adventure
“A has-been actor,” sobbed Jack’s harried mother
“Why have you acquired an English accent, harried mother?” puzzled the boy
“Heavens, what ever do you mean?” returned the harried mother
“You just said ‘bean’ instead of ‘bin’,” explained the boy
“ ‘Bean’ it is, then,” the harried mother cried, grabbing the stick and throwing it out the window
They ate a bit of left-over adze soup and trooped off to their thread-bare humble beds
Little did they ken what happened through the chill gloomy night
For the stick thrown out the window had stuck upright in the garden soil and was transmogrified

As dawn the rosy fingered scratched the eastern slate of cold gray sky sad Jack suddenly awoke
His harried mother had just let out a squawk, no, more a squeal, a loud moan, a startled yelp
“Come at once harried husband, gentle Jack,” she cried
She continued, “Look out the window, what thing is this that blocks our view?”
No stick stuck there, but a mighty wooden column as wide across as a tree trunk
And round it wound a spiral staircase in sinusoidal grace
“Wow,” mouthed Jack and his harried father silently
Out they ran and were more amazed, for the shaft reached up, up, and away into the clouds
“I shall climb the stairs harried mother, harried father, and find out whither it goes,” stated Jack
“Not without breakfast and getting dressed, young man,” chided the harried mother

Up, up, up, ever higher, Jack scampered through and beyond the clouds
The days drifted by unrelentingly, swiftly flew the arrow of time
The somewhat less harried mother lost track, had it been three days or seven?
The somewhat less harried father gave up making adzes, since they were waste deep in unsold merchandise
He began building a kiln with which he would fire clay
She began coiling clay into lovely pottery
It had, on the whole, become quite agreeable
But no, down the stairs Jack came
And as he stepped off the last rung, the spiral staircase and column vanished utterly, whoosh!

“Oh, not-so harried mother,” gushed Jack, “Wait till I tell you my tale
“There was a land covered with snow way above the clouds,
“And the actor was there, but he wasn’t an actor at all, but a retired baseball player from San Francisco
“He hitched a sleigh to two magical horses, and let me steer
“So we could fly above the snowy fields and look though the clouds, I even saw you and the house
“He then gave Bossy back to me, but changed”
Here Bossy fouled Jack’s hand, but behold, the bibbits were pure gold, becoming bibelots!
The once-again harried mother looked keenly at the golden droppings
“Let me get this straight,” probed the less harried mother
“You sleighed a Giant and took his bird that lays golden poop?”
“Yes, mother,” proclaimed Jack, “So now you can devote all your time to making pottery!”

And that my dears, is how Jack’s mother went from being harried to being a potter

No comments:

Post a Comment