From underneath the kitchen sink
there reeks a really awful stink
of offal skins and garbage juice
and other foodstuff with no use…
The fumeâ€™s so foul we end our meal;
our noodles, cold, have no appeal.
We hold our breath and clear the spread
although our guts have not been fed.
We wipe the counter, wet our hands,
and scrub the crusty pots and pans…
But oh, that smell is much too vile —
our senses aren’t so versatile!
We hunker down, crouch to the floor
and peer behind the cupboard door.
But what is this? Whatâ€™s this we see?
MyÂ Uncle Jim peers back at me!
His hands are full of bones and meat,
of turkey wings and chicken feet.
His face, once handsome, now is marred
with grease and crud and sludge and lard.
We grab him by the collar — quick!
He struggles with a punch and kick!
BringÂ vinegar to clean the slime!
Abrasive sponge to scrub the grime!
Then Uncle Jim begins scream:
GIRLS, PUT ME BACK! I’M ON YOUR TEAM!
“Whatâ€™s that?” we say; we are perplexed.
We let him free; he says this next:
Imagine rodents tucked beneath
the kitchen sink: their tiny teeth
do tear upon the bits of flesh,
left over from your dinner, fresh.
They sleep inside the kitchen drawer,
and scatter crumbs upon the floor,
leave trails of refuse in their wake,
NO THANKS FOR ALL THE FOOD THEY TAKE.
Would you prefer those mice to me?
Your Uncle Jim, who quietly
has seen that no food goes to waste,
so thankful for the glorious taste
of all the food you deem unfit,
discreetly in a napkin spitâ€¦
But don’tÂ you know? All food’s divine!
To Uncle Jim, all food is fine!
So tell me kids, what do you think?
To dwell beneath the kitchen sink:
which one is better? Mice or me?
We chew on this thought carefully…
Back underneath the kitchen sink
goes Uncle Jim, who gives a wink.
His parting words are soft but frank:
AUNT FLO’S INSIDE THE TOILET TANK.
written in 2010