POETRY IN MOTION
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By The Time I Reached The Cabbage This is a true story. It happened a long time ago but I've never tried to put it in verse before now. (Not poetry - just verse!) It was a sunny summer shirt-sleeve afternoon, It was the first week of May but felt more like late June, The kind of day we motorcyclists like, So I was cruising through the town on my bike. In front of me a girl on a moped threaded a path through all this – Cars to the right and cars to the left, it was all very hit-and-miss As with cool, deliberate manoeuvres she zipped along letting nothing harry her. She had a plastic shopping-box attached to her rear carrier. A car had stopped and she passed it on the inside When the lid of this plastic box suddenly flew open wide And out jumped the biggest cabbage I have ever seen, large, white and round – It did a couple of bounces then rolled along the ground. The lid of the box fell shut again And she carried on her way leaving the cabbage where it was lain. I pulled up and watched the cabbage as car wheels missed it by fractions of an inch – A cabbage with nine lives? It didn't even flinch. As soon as possible I picked it up and tucked it inside my shirt. The girl was out of sight having put on a sudden spurt. And off I sped in hot pursuit To trace her route. I caught a glimpse of her turning a corner But couldn't get close enough to warn her That her cabbage had been ejected, Its loss by her still totally unexpected. On turning the corner myself, I found I'd finally managed to run her to ground And there parked up by a front garden gate, With a puzzled expression and scratching her pate, This girl stood leaning on her machine And gazing at the empty space where her cabbage had been. Looking like people do when they have received nasty shocks, She was gazing with disbelief into her empty box. But I was able to calm her. When I rode up like a knight in shining armour And, ripping open my shirt in the manner of Errol Flynne, Watched her eyes alight on the cabbage within. She grasped and grabbed it to her breast; And, thus caressed, Cabbage and mistress reunited, Another wrong righted, I needed no thanks for my assistance. I got back on my bike, turned and rode off into the distance. She stood and watched me disappear – I wonder did she shed a tear? I'll always picture her standing by that hedge Clutching an armful of errant veg, And waving an arm at her mysterious saviour riding off in a cloud of smoke And gasping admiringly, ‘Gosh, what a bloke!' That day the cabbage made the pan. I was hero…………I was that man! Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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