Mirianne

Mirianne looked and sighed, her face quite glum,
Into the mirror, turned and pinched some chub,
‘What’s this, all this stuff wibbling all around me?
Tis fat! No, no, this simply cannot be!
So Mirianne resolved, firmly, her jaw set,
‘I shall have but one chicken a day, roasted,
With that tasty crumbly spice on the top
All right, I guess I can have a Daim bar from the shop
As well, BUT
Nary a stray nor errant crumb besides!
By Christmas I must fit into these lines!
That’s IT! No other way will suffice!
No potatoes! No bread! No rice!
I CAN do it and I WILL!

As the minutes turned into days and the days into weeks
And therupon the weeks dissolved into months,
Slowly slimmer svelter grew Mirianne
‘Wonderful!’, thought Mirianne as she saw her scales
Register more pleasantly in her favour.
‘This is going quite perfectly in every possible way!’
And so the shrinkification continued

When at last Mirianne stood before her mirror
And-suddenly-poof!-she disappeared altogether!
‘Goodness gracious!’ thought Mirianne,
Slightly consternated.
‘Possibly I have overdone the undereating?’
Relieved was she when by turning her face
She could detect herself by the size of her nose
Not her forehead though, nor her seating
Could possibly be detected by the naked eye
An electron scanning microscope, perhaps
Will reveal the large bones of the skull and the shy
gluteus maximus and the quadriceps, but quite otherwise
Not a thing could be seen of poor Mirianne.

‘This is quite probably the most dreadful thing ever!’ wailed
Our poor Mirianne, understandably anxious but, sadly,
Not visibly so.
‘Whatever will happen to my wonderful husband Filipendous?’
Wailed she as she gazed adoringly at his bald head, etched
Expertly in black and white upon the wall, a black frame surrounding all
His bulk (for he was quite the opposite to his wife
And was bent on gluttony for the rest of his life)
‘There is just nothing for it!’, shouted Mirianne and leapt up
She raced down the stairs, pulling her jeans on (they went right up
To her chin) and, without stopping, ran to the shop.

Here another obstacle presented itself. ‘May the Good Lord have Mercy
Upon me!’ cried the shopkeeper, throwing up his hands
In extreme fear and terror, tears coursing uncontrollably
Down his cheeks, wishing for the sweet summons of his Lord
As before him floated a prominent nose beside two jars of marmalade
And a five euro note wiggled impatiently in the air
Struggling through the tears, the grocer nevertheless felt in his heart
A sudden primitive yet mercenary urge course through him
And his trembling hand bore down hard upon the note. He held it
Beside his face, wetting it with his hysterical tears. The nose
Sadly regarded this astonishing spectacle of humanity and floated out
Of the door, following the marmalade jars and being followed
by the horrified ting-a-ling of the shop door.

A small boy at the park was running beside a pond, quite full
Of ducks and other assorted marine creatures. He insolently
Refused to pay even an iota of attention to his poor
Mother as she ran behind him, crying in a pitiful voice,
‘My darling child! My wonderful cherub!
Dear shinining magnificence of my eyes!
Oh, divine blossom of the tigress
Which dwells in the– in the– what the- what is THAT?’
And stood, pointing, shocked (with throbbing feet)
At the incredibly curious view before them
Two marmalade jars, one half-empty, and a spoon
Digging in and out of the jar and conveying the contents up to a faceless nose.

She screamed and collapsed gracefully
(making very sure not to crush her dress beneath her).
Her obnoxious son, ignoring completely
His reposing mother, approached the marmalade jar.
Just as his curious hand was just about to touch the jar, a cry of pain
Escaped his lips. The spoon had left a concave imprint on his hand and he
Could only whimper and suck at the raised ‘MADE IN CHINA’ written backwards
on his fist. The spoon dipped once more into the jar, scraping around the edges.
The irritating shockheaded fellow felt rage rise within him and he (obnoxiously) ran back
From whence he came.

The nose paused suspiciously for a moment, then
Went back to marmalade spooning. A high pitched yapping and a crazy shout
permeated the air then, and with great horror, the spoon was unable to rout
The wildly flaring jaws of a chihuahua. The ruffles around the canine’s neck gave no clue
To a vicious nature far exceeding that of any monster guarding Hell’s crew.
Small beads of sweat popped out upon the nose as it judged whether to stay or go.
Fortunately, what the ruffled pet, the nose at least could know,
Contained in ferocity, it lacked in visceral bulk, meaning that the nose was safe
From imminent danger. Not for long, though. Weeping out of the corner of his eye, the little boy
Still retained enough vision to be able to see yet another unusual sight. A pink lump appeared
Near a buttercup with a bee nestling inside. ‘Froofles!’ cried the lad. ‘Look here!’ and poked the lump.
The nose jerked downwards and, seeing the lump, shovelled the spoon with greater speed.

A wide grin spread slowly across the face of the evil lad as the light dawned upon him.
‘This lump, Froofles’, he cried out to his hellish pet, ‘is part of that nose!’ His face (like a turnip)
Frowned evilly as he commanded the animal to savage the lump. It did so with great relish
Thowing its inconsiderable self upon the pink flesh and tearing upon it. It found it quite delish
And successfully ignored all attempts by the spoon to cease and desist.
The lump, nose, spoon and remaining marmalade jar took to their heels and out of the park they ran
The chihuahua still gripping the lump with its viselike jaws. A swift kick was enough, though
To displace the canine, but still the seemingly unconnected trio ran through the town streets.
A gentleman in a brown tweed suit, musing over the contents of a shop window was convinced
of his insanity, as were three small girls and one recovering alcoholic who had not touched
A drink in twelve years, made the prompt decision to stop by the off licence.

Mirianne stood outside her house
Listening to the sounds of the television within
Thinks she, ‘Filipendulous is certainly in,
He will certainly come up with a wonderful idea!’
Comforted, she burst into an aria
And ran into the cracK between the door and the jamb
Leaving behind her the spoon and the jam
(they wouldn’t fit through the  gap)
‘Filipendulous, my sweet!’ she cried as she stood
Before him. Fortunately for Filipendulous, she did not
Block the crucial saving goal for Manchester United. Thus
They stood until the game ended and Filipendulous swept
The crumbs from his stomach onto the carpet. ‘Yes, my dear?’
He asked of the nose, standing patiently there for the past ten minutes.

‘Filipendulous, my darling, I have disappeared entirely!’ said the nose
(not one for beating around the bush)
Soothingly, our Fili reached out a stockinged foot and stroked the lump
‘I know it, my darling, but what could I say? You would listen to no sense
Common or otherwise, but here’s the plan. You say you want reappear, well, je pense,
If you’ll pardon my french,
I think the best thing for us to do is go to an All You Can Eat Chinese Eatery.
Vicissitudes and Vittles are by far and away the best way for us to- hooray!’
He broke off suddenly and pointed to another lump, floating at hip-level,
‘Your love handle is back! My dear! Before tonight, we shall be reunited! Several
Dishes is all that’s needed!’ He embraced her (which was like hugging air)
and kissed the pert nose fondly, before fastening securely around his neck a napkin.

A long night made short, the nose, lump and hiplevel lump joined other lumps
Around and finally congealed to reform Mirianne.
‘Wonderful!’ shouted Mirianne, a tear appearing in the corner of her eye
As the very last piece of the puzzle she could spy
Completing her shape. ‘I am quite myself again!’
‘I wouldn’t be too excited about this if I were you, murmured Filipendulous
As the chinese restaurant filled with hundreds of ravenous chihuahuas
All ruffled and all led by one ill-tempered youth, his knuckles reading
‘MADE IN CHINA’. Our reconstituted Mirianne jumped up, knocking
Over her chair and nearly made it to the door before being overtaken.

Filipendulous sadly watched the scene, skilfully wiping his lips, before shaking
His hand at the waiter, performing complicated signs to indicate
That his meal was over, that he no longer wished to wait.
The restaurant the next day displayed
A new type of meat, much excitedly praised
By all that dined there. ‘It was very tender!’ cried the gourmet to the maitre d’
‘And tasted of-I’m not quite sure- is there- I think- of marmalade?’