I dedicate this poem to the lowly critter we caught trying to steal hubcaps from a vehicle in the driveway last night. He left at the scene (1) a screwdriver, (2) the hubcap he meant to take with him, (3) a freshly picked tomato from the garden, and (4) a sullied reputation.
And Miklos in his kerchief (or the bathroom) and I in my cap (or PJs),
We’d just settled down (or were about to) for a long summer’s nap (or sleep);
When out of the yard, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter;
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash;
The sensor-light on the garage that we know,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to all things below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a dirty little boy, who was trembling with fear;
His eyes — how they shifted! his hair, little there-y!
His cheeks were so greasy, his eyes two red cherries!
His thin little lips were beginning to quiver,
Too young for a beard, no description to deliver;
The screwdriver, yellow, he dropped in his fright,
And the hubcap that fell lay there still in the night;
He was skinny and wimpy with the face of a chimp,
A tomato, he’d picked from the garden, that shrimp.
So down, down we dashed to the driveway below,
Miklos yelled “Hey, get up!” to the dumb shmoe;
The boy crouched behind ye olde pickup truck,
In his haste and noise, had just run out of luck;
But the boy popped up quickly, and ran for his life;
I would have too, Miklos has a sweet knife;
The cops they were called, and we all just giggled;
Chuckling about the hubcap and tomizzle;
So if Welland’s your home and you’re stealing our caps,
We hope you enjoy the unripened tomates.