It's been a while since my last post, so I hope you will all forgive me now that I am back in the world of the written word.

Here's a comical poem for a Friday lunchtime, enjoy and have a good weekend all :)

Grandad and the Breadcrumb

In the crinkled crease of Grandad’s smile,
A breadcrumb sat to rest a while,
Nestling in his greyed moustache
The toasted morsel found a lodge.
I wondered whether I should say
A wayward crumb had lost its way?
But decided that instead I’d watch
To see the crumb become dislodged.

Grandad coughed and cleared his throat,
Oblivious to the speck of loaf,
Still anchored in his grizzled hairs,
Devoid of purpose, wish or care.
But as he delved into the butter
The toasted crumb began to flutter.
Up and down with every breath,
Clinging on until the death.

Gingerly, as if tempting fate
Grandad, quick, refilled his plate.
Piles and piles of crumbs, I feared
Would soon be heading for his beard,
Plastered thick in strawberry jam
And draped with rind from roasted ham.
In Grandad’s whiskers, who could know
How many crumbs had made their home?

Armed with knife and low-fat spread
Grandad set upon his bread,
Sloshing jam and slicing fast,
Determined that the fun should last.
But how I longed to make him sneeze
And watch the crumb fall in the cheese.
Yet still the speck refused to lurch,
Stuck fast on its wiry perch.

Then all at once, amidst the chatter,
The crumb sank slowly to the platter.
Floating down without a sound,
The tiny dot espied firm ground.
But Grandad, using two stout fingers,
Scoured the plate for all that lingered
A with a lick, a wipe and gulp
The poor breadcrumb was turned to pulp.

© Frances Pallett