'TWANG-BOX TUNES FOR KILLING CATS'

(The day Diana-at-the-pi-anna got a clavichord)



Cousin Diana had a funny pi-ana,
Like a long wooden suitcase propped on four skinny legs,
And instead of keys and hammers made for striking the strings,
It had little wooden see-saws stuck with funny quill-things.
Never played any decent stuff : it all went trink-a-tring
Like a junk-cart full of hacksaw-blades playing tunes for busted-springs.
When I told her, she sort of smouldered
Went purple, pink and crimson, had a beetroot for a head
Go away, little boy - how would you know, she piped,
Knocked her hand up on the keyboard as she tried to take a swipe.
Then swanned and stroked her see-saws: twanged out Cherry Ripe
Smiled smug as the teeth of her plunket-box as she played a load of tripe.





--Sterl