RETURN OF THE PURPLY-HATTED MIMPSBY

(See also http://m-a-w-h.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/purply-hatted-mimpsby.html  April 8th 2012)

Over in the corkscrew tree

The Mimpsby yawned and thought of tea

And ice-cream cones,

Of jam with scones

With cream from Devon

Which would be heaven

If only he could find a caff

Where he actually liked the staff.

He scampered down the corkscrew tree

With something almost (but not quite) glee.

Licking his lips and rubbing his tum

Whilst thinking of the tastes to come.

But his joy soon stopped at the edge of town

When he met a grim man who had a frown

Who asked him questions about his life

Like “Where do you live?” and “Where’s your wife?”

The Mimpsby shrugged inside his coat

And then he made a mental note

To add this bureaucrat to his “list”

Especially as he would persist

To ask these questions irritating

When there was good breakfast waiting!

This chap was neither pertinent nor proper

And even took against his purple topper.

“Did you not once wear a green hat?”

“No! That was my brother, was that.

My hat is purple, everyone knows!”

(Why’s he asking, do you suppose?)

“Oh, a brother... Where is he?”

“We seldom speak so don’t ask me!”

“A Green-Hatted man who looks like you

Last night stole a thing or two!”

The Mimpsby gulped and turned away.

His kin had always caused bother that way.

This is why he lived alone

And did not answer his telephone.

The people of the town he knew intuitive

Thought him most odd and a bit reclusive

And wouldn’t talk to him unless

They must, and only then under duress.

He worried now that this was serious

And this gentleman imperious

Had questions which he’d better answer -

“I’ll tell you everything I can, sir!”

“So what’s your name…?” He answered “Mimpsby”

And your first name…? He said “Mimpsby”

So your name is “Mimsby Mimpsby?””

(The man’s a fool!) “No! Just Mimpsby!”

The man’s grim face got even grimmer
The Mimpsby started to consider
That his previous acts of flippancy
Might not have helped his cause, you see.
He noted that a crowd had gathered
To watch this Mimpsby get hot and bothered.
He took but a moment to consider his plight
Then grassed his brother up real tight.

And once he’d told his tale of woe
He was told that he could go.
So off for his breakfast he went
But it tasted like excrement.
And all the people tutted and frowned
Once more made him outcast from town
Its most unpopular resident
Who was never allowed to explain or repent.

So every day he’d eat in isolation
They’d take his cash without conversation.
Sometimes he’d chatter to himself
Just to retain his mental health.

“I have no more games to play”

Is what they thought they heard him say

“And I have no more songs to sing”

Did he really mean this thing?

He stood up proudly and doffed his hat
Bid them farewell and that was that.

Then he looked them all in the eye
And emitting a huge sigh
Announced “My disappointment is absolute!

I shall depart. Perhaps learn the flute!”
And with that he went away
“He’ll be back for breakfast” he heard some say.

And so the Mimpsby sat alone

Trying to get a decent tone
From a flute he fashioned from a twig
That was not too small and not too big.

And high up on a branch of the corkscrew tree
Sad tunes were played by a lonely Mimpsby
That drifted out across the night air
And spoke of sadness and despair.

The people of the town felt grim
When that tune played they thought of him
And of all the sadness they had brought
Upon themselves by caring naught
For a lonely Mimpsby who’d had to tell
On his own brother (who’d gone to hell)
And now sat alone in a corkscrew tree
Alone with just his misery.