Poetry Corner

Racing Mildred – by Norbert Twistgrip

Eye-level view of a post-pie nap.

Mildred was a bandy lass,
The speed that she could cover grass,
School sports days she was never passed,
Over hundred metres

One day she spied a nice pork pie,
Through the corner of her eye,
And truly could no more deny,
She fancied a bit of that

Fast forward on a decade more,
Mildred’s sitting on the floor,
Within her flat that she abhors,
Too heavy now to race

At first she never noticed signs,
The pies had slowed her record times,
Oft’ passed and lagging long behind,
With pork pie-induced stitches

The Commonwealth, Olympic games,
A distant dream with her to blame,
The bakery fed this hall of shame,
A sedentary life for Mildred

Mildred’s is a cautionary story,
If you yearn for running glory,
Avoid pies and you’ll be hunky-dory,
And probably sausage rolls