A cruel joke one day I played
Upon the lass who was our maid

I spied her busy, taking care
And thought, “I’d like to cut her hair.”

She’d amber locks that reached her waist
And gently framed a pretty face

Broom closet. Quiet. Not a sound
A single squeak and I’d be found

At last, she came upon the door
With no idea what was in store

A twist, a shove. She’d hit her head
I thanked the Lord there was no red

Unconscious, on the floor she lay
A doll, discarded after play

Her glistening hair soon would be
Lost, and on account of me

So out I sprang, scissor in hand
A rattler coiled in the sand

A lion tamer with his whip
Her luscious mane I’d chop and snip

For this misdeed would there be Hell?
Still, what a story I could tell

One final cut and she awoke
Surprised to see this startled bloke

She popped straight up and clasped her head
My hunger met, I turned and fled

She found a mirror, I the door
We’d surely seen her final chore

And after that I laughed for days
In a glorious, victorious haze

Our new maid is just settling in
Will there be mischief? A big grin

Parker Allen Stacy, IV
9/26/1991 (Original)
1/12/2009 (Updated)

Copyright 2009 Parker Allen Stacy, IV. All Rights Reserved.

(Note: This is a follow-up to my other poem “A Cruel Joke One Day I Played” and you should probably read that one first.)

A big grin crept across my face
Whilst hiding there beside her lace

The hour late, the timing right
The harvest moon cast spooky light

The notion first occurred to me
One day while watching her make tea

She’d knocked the salt and spilt some out
Then tossed a pinch, which left no doubt

Her superstitions thus gave rise
To impish plans I would devise

I’d start with subtle hints to find
Preparing her subconscious mind:

Her looking glass now bore a crack;
A stray cat happened to be black;

Umbrellas open in the hall
And other whispers, each one small

The calendar—another boon:
Friday thirteenth—full of the moon!

Like my capriccio last year
I knew a scolding I would hear

While all at home lay fast asleep
Into her wardrobe I did creep

I’d laid a rig upon the floor
And passed some twine above the door

All set, I moaned with eerie rasp
And from her bed there came a gasp

Then with a shriek and one good yank
I raised my “ghost”; fulfilled my prank!

She screamed and fled; ran down the lane
My laughter I could not contain!

For until then I did not know:
A sleeping gown she did forgo

A cruel joke one night I played
Upon the lass who was our maid

Parker Allen Stacy, IV
2/20/2009

Copyright 2009 Parker Allen Stacy, IV. All Rights Reserved.

Some exercise would do me good
(Deep down inside I knew I should)
Yet faltered with the cold air’s nip,
That moment’s hesitation grip.

Dressed head to toe in running gear
And with a band to warm my ear
Yet just a step outside my door
My healthy joy did seem a chore.

Besides, the race is months away
So, what’s the harm to skip one day?
With that decision came a chime;
I pondered how to spend the time.

Athletics in the house won’t do;
Convinced it was the wrong venue
I chose instead to treat myself:
Luxuriate as though of wealth.

Instead of pounding on the street,
With tightened lungs and aching feet,
I’d lounge and give those feet a lift
And start a film—a recent gift.

I bounded up the narrow stair
To slip into my softest wear;
With cocoa and a cookie tin,
All comfy, let the show begin!

At intermission, freshened up:
Another tin, another cup,
What genre shall I next perchance?
A comedy? Perhaps romance?

And thus I gobbled up my day;
My private, day-long matinee;
Enjoyed and relished all the more
For countless miles theretofore.

Parker Allen Stacy, IV
3/7/2009

Copyright 2009 Parker Allen Stacy, IV. All Rights Reserved.