Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Shopping (03/01/07)
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TITLE: Bruno�s Shopping Junket | Previous Challenge Entry
By Beth LaBuff
03/06/07 -
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That summer Monday, mid July,
Year: 1962
An unlatched gate, an oversight,
Outcome: hullabaloo.
Brawny Bruno, angus bull,
Escaped and seized the day.
Gate left dangling, no more wrangling,
From pastureland did stray.
Bruno snorted, sensing freedom,
Belied mad-cow disease.
Bovine breakout from confinement,
Spurred on by summer’s breeze.
Westward on toward Chesterton,
Unsuspecting village.
Bruno trotted, head held high.
His cloven hooves would pillage.
Round about noon, same summer day,
Old Bruno spied a door,
‘Twas Abe’s Market on Maple Street
The town’s lone groc’ry store.
Into this shop he horned his way,
Shoved customers aside,
Proceeded past the canned goods aisle,
The grocer he defied.
Through the produce Bruno rambled,
Ingested apples ripe.
Purloined carrots, beets, and lettuce,
Digested in his tripe.
Shelves of bakery goods were tossed,
relieved of cakes and pies.
Pastries were trampled under hoof,
A produce aisle reprise.
Then to the chips and soda pop,
Without a backward glance,
Bruno bebopped through the snacks,
A bullish market dance.
His shopping frenzy trashed the place.
Left food strewn ‘cross the floor,
Noodles, crackers, maple syrup,
“Clean-up on aisle four”.
What currency did Bruno use,
For this, his luncheon bender?
The last I heard in this fair land,
Cow pies weren’t legal tender.
“Eye for an eye,” must be repaid,
So says the Holy Book,
Bruno’s infraction was a sin,
The bull was ruled a crook,
The grocer uttered not a word,
Nor questions did he ask.
A minor scuffle could be heard,
One swiftly ended task.
New signs were posted on the wall,
Alas, …here ends his tail.
“Brisket, Roasts -- 2.99”
Old Bruno was on sale!
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bovine,ect.) Kudos .. you have a gift for this form of poetry!
However, congratulations on this delightful piece of writing. You captured the mood and the animal so well.
But, then again: Poor Bruno.
Whose poems bore the scent of earth
Whose tales of cattle (often braised)
Filled everyone who read with mirth.
I'd praised this poet's work before,
(Surely to such are laurels owed)
To use the same words...what a bore!
So here are kudos in an ode!
(Sorry...I couldn't resist)