(after Horace – Epode X, Mala Soluta Navis)
She must have appeared from nowhere one Halloween,
she couldn’t have been born like us.
We should string Elsie’s skipping rope across her back-yard gate,
cover the snek with mud,
so when she comes to shout at us, she’ll trip
and break her leg, with a bit of luck,
or we could tie a long string to the handle of her door,
then hide round the corner and pull on it.
Sunday afternoon, everyone’s in bed,
nobody will see us.
If we all pull really hard and fast on the string,
we’ll drive her round the bend.
She deserves it for all of her shouting,
and for stopping us playing donkey.
We’ll have to get our story straight,
’cos when she works it out
she’ll go round winging to all of our mothers,
and swearing down she knows that it was us.
She’ll shout and bawl and threaten to call the police,
she’ll bend their ears,
Even if our mams tell her to leave us alone,
we’ll be for it,
we’ll end up doing her messages for a week,
her stinking messages all week.