A sad tale written to illustrate the fact that, if challenged to a duel by a duvet, you should graciously retire from the contest
It is the tale of what occurred when I decided I
Would take my duvet on the bus, not Catcher in the Rye.
A book, you see, is more the thing to take when on the bus.
But duvets need a wash sometimes. (They're full of bits of us -
A million trillion skin cells that slough off in the night -
And form a tasty supper for a zillion dustmite.)
It's just something to warm you as you rest your weary head.
I thought the same, dear friends, that duvets were not filled with spite,
Into a plastic bag thinks it a sign it is not loved.
It's like a screaming toddler who will not in buggy sit
And stiffens up his legs until the mum admits defea - defit.
After the half an hour it took to get it tied up snug
One came and I thought, ‘Lovely. Just on time. I can sit down.’
And look at all the differences 'tween books and duvii [the plural, I swear]
A book is well-behaved. It sits quite passively in laps.
A duvet wants its own seat and then some of yours, perhaps.
A duvet, off the bus, looks like a duvet, and won't faze ya.
When on the bus, it grows - becomes the size of Africa … and Australasia.
It rings the bell by accident. It trips folk in the aisle.
It waits until its moment and then leaps out at a child.
My duvet strained against its bag. I thought that it would split.
It terrified me, thinking what might happen next. Would it
Rise up and come alive - become a kind of Duvet Shrek?
Change from its white/grey-white to Green? Grab babies by the neck?
Or burst into a jazz song like a groovay duvet Buble?
Or drag the driver from his seat, squeeze out his final breath
Then drive us all to Duvet-Land where we would meet our death?
I dragged my duvet off the bus, making apologies
For bashing everybody's elbows, legs and heads and knees.
I headed for the launderette, for my revenge was near.
Hah! On the bus, the duvet won. But I would triumph here.
As, trapped in the machine, it could do NOTHING as it drowned.
And then, when it was washed and clean, I tortured it with heat
Inside the tumble drier. Oh, the victory was sweet!
I had two hours of quiet while my duvet washed and dried.
PS If you liked this poem, you might like to see other poems here