The Telltale Venus Flytrap!
Mrs. Primrose Potter has
a neighbour in for tea
"My husband is possessed!"
she quips, "Horticulturally."
"How nice." says Mrs. Albacore,
"but you've no garden plot?"
"It's in the basement." Rose replies
"His garden's in a pot!
It's all been very 'hush hush'",
Primrose Potter sighs
but tonight I get to see
my Valentine's surprise!"
Meanwhile, down the basement
Bertie Potter to the maw
of one giant Venus Flytrap
holds a chicken fresh and raw.
It snaps its horrid thorny fangs
He yanks that poultry back.
"I want you hungry!" Bertie sneers
"Tonight you'll have your snack!"
He bolts the basement door
skips down the hall with glee
to settle in with Primrose
and Mrs. Albacore for tea.
Across the moon that vile night
clouds scrape like ghostly claws
while downstairs in the basement
Bertie's breaking serious laws.
That evil tuber smacks its lips
then opens up so wide
Bert stuffs in Primrose easily
waaay down deep inside!
The perfect crime, without a hitch!
Bert cannot help but gloat.
He pats the lump that's Primrose
half down that monster's throat
The deed is done, Bert hits the sack
for smug and blissful sleep,
stretching out his arms and legs,
his laundry in a heap.
He feels light as leaping lambs,
as free as soaring lark...
till stomach churning gurgles rise
up from that cellar dark!
From snore to floor the felon flies
but all is calm and still.
He lulls himself to sleep again
and tasty dreams until...
a further gurgle, loud and wet
springs Bertie from his doze.
"That Godless gurgle is.." he gasps
"that freak digesting Rose!"
Bertie, like some Frankenstein
cries out, "What have I done?"
He creeps downstairs on tippy toes
with spade and rope and gun."
From pot he pulls it roots and all
and hefts it like a sin,
digs deep beneath the cedar hedge
and dumps the Flytrap in.
Next morning's sun shines brightly,
Bert sings opera in the shower,
goes jogging in the dog park,
stops twice to smell a flower.
But sleep did not come that night
for as the night before
gurgles rise like ghosts up from
that wretched basement floor!
As days now slip into weeks
Bert babbles dusk till dawn,
"Gurgle, murgle, murder, AHHH!
how long must this go on?"
He's lost near thirty pounds,
his mental state's in doubt.
He scares the postman half to death
the way his eyes bug out.
A neighbour finally calls the cops,
Bert pounding on his door
yelling words about digestion
and a haunted basement floor.
A swat team's now on the scene
while cop dogs paw the hedge,
Bertie's just being hauled in from
an upstairs window ledge
Inspector Mule, in the cellar,
holds shards of flower pot,
deducing brilliantly where Bert
had fertilized his evil plot.
"Just stop that hideous gurgle!
Before I flip my lid!
Just ask me if I did the crime,
I did! I did! I DID!"
"That gurgle, gurgle, gurgling?"
asks first patrolman, Pat.
"That's back up on the sump pump,
you'll need a plumber in for that."