A Pong

The proud dispute
of Ping and Pong,
Past pout or pique,
Springs from a prong
On which Ping spears
The final prawn
From platter piled
With piscine spawn.

"Appalling pig!"
Pong leaps upon
The parquet plane,
His paddle drawn.
"Repent repasts
you've plundered, pest."
"Preach on," purrs Ping,
"this pork's the best."

First partridge egg
Parboiled, then pearls
Of parsnip white
Pong's paddle hurls.
Ping's swift riposte?
White grapes, all peeled,
Plus pears, twice-poached
For splatter yield.

Their pa protests.
The pair still play.
It punctuates
Their repartee.
Supremacy
Unproven yet,
Their spat prolonged
'Til triumph's met,
This patter song
From Ping and Pong
Must part, perhaps,
'Ere all goes wrong.

The End

73 comments about this poem Feed