Stakeout At Chez Gardener: Homage; Or, I Then Drew You This Picture: An Apologial Sketchbook

          Metamelos

 

     Here's logg'd three dogg'rel stiches, all burlesquing lines by Carroll

     in the hopes of launching loads of laughs -- at minimum, a barrel.

     To diss 'em you're entitled; you dismiss 'em at your peril.

          Stiches

I mark'd a crescent moon, that segment sewn on Muslim flags. 

I then drew you this picture, like those shown in Turkish mags. 

Your comment...? Brash: "Who pens such trash be nowt but scalawags." 

I gazed on Joe; he's six-foot-fo' but elsewise like ourselves. 

I then drew you this picture which into his essence delves. 

But you, like H.V.D. before you, moo'd, "More bleedin' elves...?" 

     *Hugo Dyson, Tolkien's fellow Inkling, on hearing that man's 

reading of his Ring Trilogy's latest installment, famously remarked,

""F**k! Not another elf!"

I found a shrivell'd foreskin (a memento from some bris...?).

I then drew you this picture. (Note the dehydrated jizz.)

Can I be sure you really have no clues to whose it is...?

I ran across a mood ring. (How shall stay a mystery.)

I then drew you this picture -- true to life, as well you see.

Your attitude...? Your routine mood. (You're such an s.o.b.*)

     *"Spawn of a bitch' allows for gender-neutral slander. 

I stumbled on a lava lamp at St. Jude's jumble sale.

I then drew you this picture at a seven-thirteenths scale.    

(You never liked St. Jude's -- how all the price tags were in Braille.)

I spied a Bible planted in our fam'ly's chiffarobe.

I then drew you this picture. 'Fess up! Who's the credophobe...?

Your out-of-order answer...? Some misquoted verse from Job.

I broke two Xmas bubble lights bequeathed to us by Mom. 

I then drew you this picture of their fragments in my palm. 

If I have warn'd you once, I've done a thousand times: Stay calm!

 

I ate three Brit-baked sausage rolls, each stuff'd with mince of pheasant.

I then drew you this picture: "Happy birthday! Here's your present."

Your feedback, once you'd eyed it, proved remarkably unpleasant.

I read a line of Lewis's where's mention'd railway shares.

I then drew you this picture showing half a dozen pairs. 

You cannot know how struck I was when you remark'd, "Who cares!" 

 

I eyed a damaged emu egg, one smuggl'd from its nest.

I then drew you this picture which such sightings would attest.

I'd fail'd to realize my sketch would leave you so distress'd.

I then saw...who...? (So: was it you...? The shaver gave no name.)

Whereon I drew this picture -- though as yet it lacks a frame.

But you'd agree: whate'er I see, your come-back's e'er the same...?