Poetry by Rhys Hughes
THE BISCUIT TIN
Let us in,
Oh, let us in,
sing the mice to the biscuit tin.
Let me out,
Oh, let me out,
shouts a thing that lives within.
And
the mice
change their minds.
In the
biscuit tin
the monster was dozing
and while dreaming
he cuddled his prehensile toes
with his trunk of a nose.
Imagine that!
Now he’s awake
and hungry for cake
but who has cake in a biscuit tin?
Not him, not him!
He is dreadfully thin.
That’s
the sad thing
we sometimes forget
when talking of mice and monsters
— they get hungry too.
QUESTIONS AND THEIR ANSWERS
What?
When?
Where?
She asked me,
and in order to reply
with accuracy and efficiency
I cunningly
replaced her
Double Yous with Teas.
Do you see?
That!
Then!
There!
THE GYM BIKE
I pedal on the gym bike every day
but I go nowhere
out of my way — I stay right there
and always obey
the laws of physics and geography.
I pedal on the gym bike every night
and the moonlight
licks my brow — but why and how
it likes my taste
is beyond my powers of deduction.
I pedal on the gym bike all my life
and even my wife
hates the suction — of hard saddles
that hold me fast
because they will outlast my stamina.
I pedal on the gym bike every second
and the wall clocks
swooping in flocks — have given up
counting the miles
that remain until I reach myself again.
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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