Ingrid Armstrong-Boehk


Miss Mabel had a cockatoo
Almost as old as she.
Together they would sit and chat,
Enjoy each other’s company.

Whenever someone rang her bell,
Miss Mabel asked: “Who’s that?”
And Cockie, who was very quick,
Echoed each word exact.

Then one day it came to pass,
Miss Mabel went to town.
Her cockatoo, extremely bored,
Sat all alone at home.

All at once the doorbell chimed
And just the way he’d had learned
The clever bird called: “Who’s that?”
Turning his head concerned.

“Charlie Smith, the landlord,”
Was the curt reply.
“It seems you've overlooked the rent.
It’s been a month today.”

The only answer Cockie had
To the man’s request
Was to call out: “Who’s that?”
Then preened his scrawny chest.

“Charlie Smith, the landlord,”
He said annoyed and fast.
“Miss Mabel will you open up
And speak to me at last?”

In great confusion Cockie scratched
The feathers on his head
Then shrieked quite boldly once again
His question: “Who’s that?”

Charlie’s blood began to boil.
He raved and ranted on.
He clenched his fists and stomped his feet
And rammed the door head on.

“Miss Mabel let me warn you.
I’ll do things I’ll regret
If you don't open up at once.”
But all he heard was: “Who’s that?”

Seething rage beset the man.
His face turned red, then white.
He twitched and chucked a dreadful fit
And then lay down and died.

Miss Mabel, upon her return,
Startled, shook her head,
Short-sighted squinted at the body
And muttered: “Who’s that?”

And from within the cockatoo
Screeched loud for her to hear:
“It’s Charlie Smith, the landlord.”
Miss Mabel groaned: “Oh dear”.


Alle Rechte an diesem Beitrag liegen beim Autoren. Der Beitrag wurde auf vom Autor eingeschickt Ingrid Armstrong-Boehk.
Veröffentlicht auf am 23.04.2006.


Die Autorin


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