‘A’ is for Aphid

Aaron Aphid and his brother Pete

wouldn’t eat vegetables, their preference was meat

Squashed hedgehog, old bones, or even a worm,

the thought of fresh beans just made them squirm.

Swarms of blackfly flew over their heads

heading for the gardeners prize rose-beds

I’m not bothered said Pete, not whilst there’s meat

I cannot be asked to get up on my feet.

Their Mother was livid, green leaves on the vine

and they’re lazing about drinking leftover wine,

eating a sausage spat out by a dog,

and half a squashed fly left by a frog.

“You boys take heed, it’s fresh greens you need”

all of their ten thousand sisters agreed.

“If you continue to eat all that trash,

you’ll break out in boils or a big nasty rash!”

Away in the background thumped the steps of a man,

It’s Gavin the gardener, with his watering can.

“Get offa my roses, stop eating my greens,

and keep well away from my runner beans!”

From deep in his pocket he pulled out some spray,

“Come on you Aphids; Make my day!”

a press of the trigger, a squirt of the gun,

and two million blackfly lay dead in the sun.

“Well” said Aaron to his brother Pete,

“Fancy some more of this left over meat?”

Copyright: David Pendragon: Book 'M' is for Maggot 2010