W is for Wendy assaulted by kids

W is for Wendy assaulted by kids
04/27/2008 - National Poetry Month post #31, part of The Unlucky Twenty-Six

It took just one look for Wendy to hate
the seventeen kids in the family McTate
and she grumbled and cursed her own horrible fate
just as soon as their parents were out of the gate.

For Wendy had taken the job as their sitter
before the enormity of the job hit her
and she got a good look at the huge McTate litter
and the littlest one-year-old kicked, hit, and bit her.

The McTates were well known throughout Marrow Moor,
from the richest of rich to the poorest of poor
for their seventeen kids were three less than a score--
four sets of triplets, four twins, and one more.

Not a one of them was a day more than eight
and their parents were due to stay out very late
while Wendy missed out on her very first date,
and four bucks an hour was a most awful rate.

But her friends had come up with a wonderful plan
to keep control over that monstrous clan.
She took them outside and there they all ran
a forced exercise like the march to Bataan.

But they wouldn't behave, and they made such a mess
that it caused the poor Wendy enormous distress,
and how she could tame them, she never could guess,
til she lost her control when they set fire to her dress.

So she took them inside and had them all eat
an arsenic and oleander specialty treat,
then made them move heavy, big chunks of concrete
and forced them to sniff each other's stinky feet.

In the nine baby bottles, Tabasco she poured
and the older ones whined they were feeling quite bored
so she tied them all up with electrical cord
and she super-glued one to the ironing board.

She locked two in a cupboard and threw out the key
and she tried to mail one to Schenectady,
and she shut up another in the old rookery
and she thought of decaptitating two or three.

But the kids put fire crackers in Wendy's left shoe
and they flushed Wendy's earrings down the upstairs loo
and they shoved her coat up the chimney flue
and replaced her toothpaste with a tube of white glue.

For Wendy, the war had only begun
for the parents were not due to come home til one
and she wondered if Mister McTate had a gun,
or maybe she'd run off and become a nun.

As Wendy tried to usher them all up to bed,
the four that she'd locked outside in the shed
knocked her down and she fell down the stairs on her head,
and that's where the McTate parents found her, quite dead.

One of my writing goals for 2008 is to write at least one light verse or poem every week in addition to my haiku wednesday and fiction friday posts. I will try to do this on Mondays.