SUNDAY SCRIBBLINGS
'Plan B'
PLAN B PLUS
When we are in our giddy teens
In shabby shirts and faded jeans,
Possibilities abound
Lots of Plan 'A's can be found.
'I'm going to marry lots of money',
'I'll be a comic.....very funny',
'I'm going to climb Mount Everest',
'I'll be more beautiful than the rest',
'I shall be a politician'
'I'll be a famous dietician.'
But most of us, it seems to me,
Have to fall-back on Plan 'B'.
You realise, at a certain age,
That you're not going to make it on the stage.
That great Australian novel, you found,
Never quite got off the ground.
You married Ned with the squeaky voice;
There wasn't a great deal of choice.
That virus that you, sadly, caught,
Meant you'd never be an astronaut.
There are those that live their dream,
They plot, they plan, they fiercely scheme,
But even those so-envied folk
Often find that life's no joke.
Broken marriages, and ill-health
Often dog those blessed with wealth.
What we have to do, it seems to me,
Is approach our second-best, Plan 'B',
As though it were an ideal life,
Not just a teacher, just a wife,
And then we may find out one day
That all along it was Plan 'A'.
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THE WHIMSICAL FLIB
A Flib cannot digest it's food
A Flib cannot digest it's food
Unless it's cut in pieces,
And then it likes to share the lot
With its nephews and its nieces!
They sit around the snipty trough
All wary with their flerkins,
And tuck their snops beneath their chins
So as not to stain their jerkins.
The flib takes out a snarping tool
To cut the plog in sections,
The juice runs out all zumpling goo
And flows in all directions.
The rudest niece cries out 'Me first!'
And the Flib gets quite irate.
'I'll podge your snup, you skiddy girl.
You've got to learn to wait!'
At last, all served, they grab their garks
And splug and squib and squeal!
Then, big and fat they all go 'Splat!'.
Oh what a lovely meal!
*
