The Tale of the Parrot
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Colin Flynn was never haughty, Always cheerful, but quite naughty: Colin was a fiend for pranking. Yet he never got a spanking. All the mischief he was brewing No one ever thought his doing. Colin’s act was so exquisite Mama sent him off to visit Her old mother at the cottage Gran now lived in in her dotage. Granny had an ancient parrot Anything you said would scare it. It would cry, whenever nervous, "Heaven help us! Saints preserve us!" Sitting on its perch a-swinging, With its cage bell gaily ringing. When the parrot squawked so loudly Granny beamed, announcing proudly, "My ma told me her ma told ’er This old parrot is much older Than this village. Polly’s shabby, But he hatched inside an abbey Long since vanished and forgotten With its monks, now dead and rotten. But he heard their daily praying— Thus he learned his clever saying. Isn’t my old bird amazing?" Colin thought of better phrasing And of words more worth repeating, Phrases that would earn a beating With a birch twig for his fanny Were he saying them to granny— Yet were Polly to repeat them Granny would not ever beat them... Every day when gran went shopping Colin set the bird a-hopping Teased it like an evil jailor While he swore just like a sailor. Still the bird cried holy service: "Heaven help us! Saints preserve us!" Bouncing ’bout at every angle While its bell went jingle-jangle. Colin, though, was not dissuaded. All the more the boy degraded Poor old Poll with insults fouler ’Bout its mother and an owler, Poked the parrot with his finger. Once he let the digit linger Too long ’fore the angry parrot So it bit it, like a carrot. "Bloody Hell!" yelled little Colin Once this mishap had befallen. "Bloody Hell! Oh damn, I’m bleeding!" Drops of red were quickly beading Dripping down from bite to tiling. Colin soon began reviling Granny’s parrot. Then it quoted, "‘Bloody Hell!’" like one devoted. "What was that?" the boy inquired. Good old Polly was inspired: "Bloody Hell!" it started squawking, "Bloody Hell!" its perch a-rocking. Colin cried out in elation, Then the bird made invocation: "By this blood I summon Hell now. Demons come! I ring the bell now!" Gave its bell a gentle jingle. Colin felt his neck hairs tingle. Polly’s eyes were mad and manic. Those dead monks had been Satanic! "Astaroth, Marbas, Pazuzu! Ophis, Asmoday, Lilitu! Belfregor!" it called out, hanging Upside-down, bell gaily clanging. "Valefor, Abraxas, Amon! Barbatos, Eligos, Mammon! All ye snakes that slink and slither Hearken now and come ye hither!" Bloody tiles started smoking At the parrot’s foul invoking. Thirteen fiends, with claws and scales, Slithered forth, their horns and tails Barbed and forked and slowly swishing. Colin stood there. He was wishing He’d been kinder to the birdy. Poll squawked like a hurdy-gurdy, "Hellish Legions, heed my urgin’— Look, I offer you this virgin! For your honor and your pleasure! You may eat it at your leisure!" All the angels, dark and fallen, Took their claws and seized poor Colin. One, with fangs like alabaster: "What is your command, oh master?" Gran’s bird looked to one much blacker And said, "Polly wanna cracker!" With a smile and fiendish chuckles, And a crack of blackened knuckles, In a flash, it conjured kibble Which the bird began to nibble. "As you wish, oh wisest magus. If you want another, page us." Polly nodded. "You may serve us." Then he chuckled. "Saints preserve us! Heaven help us!" Polly prated. Colin realized, belated, That these words of sweet repentance Were some dead monk’s final sentence, For the demons screamed, impassioned, At the banishment so fashioned By this holy admonition As they vanished to Perdition With a clap of thunder cracking, Colin taken too, for snacking. Gran, returning, stopped and wondered Where her grandson could have blundered, ‘Where’s my Colin? Tell me, Polly!" "Bloody Hell!" her bird cried, jolly. "Bloody Hell!" The bird swung gaily. "Bloody Hell!" It said this daily. by Kevin Andrew Murphy |