Address To A Marathon (Doggerel #4)

I’m not, by nature, a poet and I approach the writing of verse as a mental exercise to replace cryptic crosswords, which have never been the same for me since Araucaria’s passing. This one started as an Authonomy flash poetry to write about a marathon in the Ode form. Being unfit, my first though was the idiosyncratic approach in the UK to the naming of the chocolate bar which we now know as Snickers. It’s inane, I know, but I couldn’t have written an earnest piece about slow twitching muscle fibres. I should also acknowledge that I’ve tried to write this in Lallans. If anyone from Scotland is reading, I apologise for any offence caused, though it’s meant affectionately and I’d hope you’ll take some solace in the fact that, when inspired to write an odd, my initial thoughts went to Burns, rather than Keats or Wordsworth.

My curse upon your venom’d stang,
As I pout like an orangutang,
Poleaxed, so, by the pain that comes,
From peanuts caught between ma gums,

‘Twas hubris bade me opt for you,
As a palate-cleansing, post-prandial chew,
But now you’re the chieftain o’ ma pudding race,
There’ll be plooks on ma sonsie, honest face

I’m nae afficionado o’ they chocolate bars,
But I’d been hoping for mair than a steroidal Mars
Bar, stuffed tae the gills wi’ sawdust and grit,
I kenned I wis accurs’d from the first time I bit

‘Twas a de’ilish confection, nae sweet meat at all,
And the bittersweet taste made me greet first, an’ bawl,
As it caused me to rue the shopkeeper’s declensions,
Tae flog me a fantoosh Milky Way with pretensions,

‘Tis time now at last for us noble, braw scots,
Tae stand up to diabolical, sassanach plots,
Nae more will they use oor wames to trick us,
If they huv tae change its name tae something like Snickers

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