Nineteen sixty eight,
I sat at table and at noon,
Staring at a plate
Of fishes' fingers from the hand
Of some aquatic beast
Defunct to make ingredients
Of my forthcoming feast,
"Crumbs!" I said appropriately
And speared one with my fork.
The piercing yell that greeted me
Turned my blood to chalk,
And made the follicles that sprout
From my balding pate
Rise like granite columns that
Support a garden gate.
Before my baffled vision rose
A monster from the deep;
I feared that unbeknown to me
I'd closed my eyes in sleep,
And now was being haunted by
Some dread tormented dream.
I'm sure the neighbours must have been
Startled by that scream.
Of all the hideous array
Of fanged and banked things
That crawl or swim or walk or fly
On feet or fins or wings,
That tear and rend their hapless prey
And scream with hideous glee,
None 'till then had e'en surpassed
The thing that menaced me,
And though it vanished in a cloud
Of acrid smelling vapour,
I hope I never more endure
Such a grotty caper.