Friday, August 10, 2007

Deaf Wish

One summer’s day, while by the sea, I went out for a walk,
When suddenly I saw a bottle, stopped up with a cork.
‘Twas early morn and I looked round and saw I was alone
And so I picked the bottle up and sat down on a stone.

I squeezed the cork between my thumbs and suddenly it popped out,
And right before my very eyes, a purple genie hopped out.
I was somewhat bewildered, although not quite overcome
With joy, as I’d been hoping that the bottle contained rum.

The genie was four metres tall and had a bulbous nose,
With rings of sparkling jewels on his fingers and his toes.
But most remarkable, he had a bandage round his earring,
Which made me wonder if he had some trouble with his hearing.

The Genie stretched his arms and shouted, “Free! I’m free at last!
I’ve been inside that bottle for a hundred decades past.
I thank you for my freedom, sir, and in the usual way,
I’ll grant to you a single wish to use upon this day.”

“A single wish?” I questioned him. “Now, Genie, tell me please,
What happened to the custom that they be dispensed in threes?”
The Genie smiled self-consciously and checked his fingernails,
Saying, “You surely don’t believe in children’s fairy tales?”

“Touché!” I smiled, “A single wish?” and wrinkled up my brow.
“Wish wisely!” warned the Genie with a big sarcastic bow.
I thought and thought and thought some more, and finally did impart
The thing I’d always wanted from the bottom of my heart.

The Genie looked quite puzzled and asked me was I sure?
I told him that I’d dreamt of it for twenty years or more.
He shrugged his purple shoulders, saying, “Just as you desire!”
And then there came a roaring and the sound of rushing fire.

But when the smoke had cleared, I was looking down upon
A very, very small piano-playing Elton John,
And I looked up at the Genie with a countenance so vexed,
As Elton asked me, would I like to hear “Nikita” next?

The Genie said, “You asked for it!” and went on the defensive.
I’m afraid I used some language that was ribald and offensive.
“You stupid oaf! You big baboon! You nincompoop!” I hissed.
“Why on earth would I wish for a twelve inch pianist?”

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