"The Bully and the Policeman"
"A garden is a lovesome thing..."
A calm and tranquil space?
A place of relaxation?
This is not always the case.
I know some peaceful gardening folk
Who live quite near the coast
Whose flowers, plants and garden
List among what they love most.
But they have a gardening problem -
And it needs to be addressed -
Involving their back garden
Which is bothered by a pest.
It's neither moth, nor fly nor worm,
Nor any type of bug,
But just as detrimental
Is this horticultural thug.
Their neighbour is a hateful man
Who vents his bile and spite
With damage and abuse by day
And noises through the night.
This man seems full of bitterness,
A state with unknown cause,
Which he takes out on his neighbours
When he sees them, without pause.
The various departments
Seemed to give immunity
Allowing him to carry on
With full impunity.
The gentle folk affected
Have to each department spoken
But the dilatory responses
Merely add up to a token.
They've suffered damage, hate, abuse,
Some planting has been trashed.
The authorities could help them
But prefer their hopes to dash.
Until upholders of our laws
Can act effectively,
I humbly would present you with
This little fantasy:
X. X. X
There lives near you a bully
He upsets his gentle neighbours.
To give no rest to their distress
He'll concentrate his labours.
Now bullies come as young or old -
It's even worth a mention
You may find them in the nursery
Or saving up their pension.
This one likes to glare and stare;
He causes damage too:
He cuts holes in their fence and hedge
To see the things they do.
The incentive for this harassment
Is not too clear to see
But family and happiness
Is what it seems to be.
Our gentle neighbours love to chat
Relaxing in the sun,
Industrious when they're working,
Contented when they're done.
This seems to rile this twisted man,
I've met the type before.
The moment there's activity
He opens his back door,
And marching up his garden path
Drags out his steps and tools;
And while he stares or shouts at folk
Insanity's what rules.
They tried in vain to talk to him
He'd just glare with disdain.
They tried with casual courtesies
But this too was in vain.
If they said "Good morning,"
Or "Why do you hate us so?"
He'd then give voice with language choice
And "off on one" he'd go.
They often felt like fighting back,
The harassment was great,
But preferred to live their lives in peace
Eschewing vengeful hate.
There came a day they'd had enough
Of snip and peek and pry.
They thought to choose a sturdy stick
And poke it in his eye!
But happily, as things turned out,
They didn't needn't to worry
For on hearing voices up he came
Just too much in a hurry.
He faltered as he reached the top
In bafflement and surprise:
His victims dared to wait for him
With laughter in their eyes.
He needed now to reassess
This situation new;
For just a while he stood there, still,
Deciding what to do.
While balanced on those well-used steps,
His face was filled with thunder;
Then he felt them budge, (there was no "nudge")
And soon he looked from under.
Confused he heard their laughter
For he'd thought they would retreat;
Then from the floor he gave a roar
And stumbled to his feet.
He staggered to the telephone:
The police'll sort them out.
They'll come for me, he thought with glee.
(Of that we have no doubt!)
(to be continued .... Too long for one posting)