Whan Aprille showers have sote
The fields and hills alike 
To their very roote
And the slimy river pike 
Is tired of wet and longs
To pass o’er the dyke
And shelter in some fronds
And while the rain away
Listening to river songs;

Then can you hear the bay
Of a beast most rare and
Rageful that hides at day
In a finely crafted lair and 
It sleeps with one eye open
So you should have a care and
Not slip upon its soapen
Floors, nor catch its
Hairy walls, or hope on
Rescue 
        should you
                match its
Dank and heavy breath
For woken it goes bat shit
And will rend you unto death.  

The Beast, it sits at ten foot tall
But stands at only eight
As its posture is abominable
And though it knows it’s far too late
To correct the fault, it nevertheless
Schleps to chiropractors
(Its back is good for a day 
But this decays
Due to a range of factors
Not least of which is its den or maze
-A hole is what many would name it-
As it necessitates the beast must 
Shamble stooped 
Or the low ceiling would brain it!)
So the creature has spread out
And its legs have dwindled down
Its torso is long, but thankfully thin
But it is concerned- 
( I mean you just can’t win!)
-That its arse has just grown
      and grown
           and grown. 

And so let me reiterate
The Beast, it sits at ten foot tall
But stands at only eight
As its posture is abominable
(But at least it’s not overweight) 
It soaps the floors and shaves the walls
And likes to leave as bait
A tastefully decorated throw rug
With a low-lit antique lamp
To camouflage the deep dug
Pit, that lies darkly lined with damp.
The Beast roars and cries at this
For it detests the encroaching clag
For even spotless is not good enough 
When it’s on a cleaning jag.
 
And so let me reiterate
The Beast, it sits at ten foot tall
But stands at only eight
As its posture is abominable
(But at least it’s not overweight) 
It soaps the floors and shaves the walls
And pisses bleach as micturate.
And sitting in its sparkling cave
It dreams of getting a date.
Its internet connection
Is lousy with BT 
And it cannot work the router
But knows some http.
It’s tried the computers at the library
And been on match.com
But they take one look at the profile pic
And in a ‘refresh’ they’re gone.
It faked it once in photoshop,
And took the red out of the eyes
Buffed some muscles on its chops
And beefed up its slender thighs
I mean, to be honest very little Beast was left
By the time the message sent
Just a well proportioned Brad Pitt clone
And you can imagine how that date went. 

And so let me reiterate...
The Beast, it sits at ten foot tall
But stands at only eight
As its posture is abominable
(But at least it’s not overweight) 
It soaps the floors and shaves the walls
And pisses bleach as micturate.
And chewing over the bones of the last
It longs for another date.
But in this wet spring weather
It slips into a funk
Despondent is its middle name
And humour does a bunk.
For the bugs take shelter in its cave,
And perfidious damp invades
And it seems the world’s against it
And worries pour on in spades 
And the water leaks in through the roof
And makes the pit a scummy pool
And the scatter cushions blink with wet 
And look slimey not bejewelled
And it looks into a mirror
And it looks hunched and really pissed
And fury rides across its brow
And ‘think of the dates it’s missed’
And self-pitying it roars and bays
And cries “was I born unlucky?”
And “fuck this hole” And “Fuck my life”
“I’m fucked if I would fuck me!”

    * * * * *    

Whan Aprille showers have sote
The fields and hills alike 
To their very roote
Mayhap you might like
To telephone or call on
The Beast o’ver the dyke
And if it doesn’t fall on
You in lusty excess
Or in rage, rend and maul on
You, at seeing it fest –
-ering, and its nest 
Looking less than at its best;
Do take it by the claw and
Try not to offend it
But gently befriend it
As you slide o’er soapy floor and
With gentle shove send it
Sailing out the door and
Into the army corps that
It swore weren’t there before and
Are eager to see it ended
For its ways cannot be mended 
Being rotten to the core and
So let the rain pour and
The rifles flare and roar and
The Beast be no more and 
Lie twelve-foot bleeding on the floor and
Riven with frustration and 
Bullets, press it to its fate
That this sodden abomination
Was never meant for a mate.