She was

A nonsense poem by Rhys Hughes

She was
a tremendous bowl of soup
with spaghetti
in a loop floating on top.
I don’t know why
this should be but it was.

She was
the elbow of an aardvark
loose in a park
in the dark after teatime.
I don’t know why
this should be but it was.

She was
many things and nothing
and rarely sang
when jumping on trampolines
but in dreams
she wouldn’t stop and the noise
was worse than
the hopping of amplified fleas
but she sustained
no damage at all to her knees.
I don’t know why
this should be but it was.

She was
the square root of minus one
and many buns
were fed to the elephants
of her equations.
I don’t know why
this should be but it was.

And if you like treacle
high up a steeple
but can’t stomach custard
because of the fuss made
in striving to contrive
a rhyme in good time
please make her acquaintance
without any pretence
and give my regards
when she turns into mustard
in the setting sun.

She was
a rapscallion and dandy
with a quaint
modus operandi
who rode on a stallion
named Disco Medallion.
I don’t know why
this should be but it was.

She was
a fruitcake lost in a lake
and I am a boat
with a sail for a coat
but I never intend to fish
her confectionary wish
out of the deeps
and send it for keeps
to the bakery zoo
where you know who
lives in a cage in a rage.
I don’t know why
this should be but it was.

She was
a clash of logical cymbals
festooning the
sides of roomy thimbles.
I don’t know why
this should be but it was.

And
maybe because
I can’t say how or why
anything should be
and neither can she
we are bewildered together
in inclement weather
and only a feather
floats between
scenes.

She was
the last verse of this poem
folded neatly
and kept in a jeroboam.
I think I know why
this should be but it wasn’t.

Rhys Hughes has lived in many countries. He graduated as an engineer but currently works as a tutor of mathematics. Since his first book was published in 1995 he has had fifty other books published and his work has been translated into ten languages.

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