Fatten Off

Hatted man, laughs in shuffrings down the walk,

Breasted with foasties and hellgrills from chalk.

Tothren, sways a metric dradging the teds,

Thumping with the belldrums of men below my bed.

I shout, “who is there?,” and there whispered back,

Some trouncy sound of metal against slack -

The drawl of a dreg, a drey, a droose,

A voice rumbles, “I own this place, I built it for mysoof.”

So when you hear the prinks, the scrapes, the facts,

Beware the world where your presence lacks,

The place where men traw weights in chalk,

And drawl their fattries until they fatten you off.

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