POEM: Who Spilled the Spelt?*

"Who spilled the spelt?"
asked the cross dressing celt,
as he tugged his silk stockings
that made his legs feel like felt.

Not the Kung Fu Master with the zebra striped belt.
"Why, I don't even know how the damn word is spelled!"

"Who spilled the spelt?"
spat the lipstick wearing celt,
as he clutched his sequined handbag
all golden and svelte.

Not the Pirate with earrings
from dubloons he had melt,
"Why, I don't even know how the damn word is spelled!"

"Then who spilled the spelt?"
begged the sobbing young celt
bemoaning the hand that he had been dealt.

Not the priest wearing pumps
fixing his girdle as he knelt,
"Why, I don't even know how the darn word is spelled!"

"Who spilled the spelt?"
whispered the quiesced celt,
whose face was so drab it wanted to melt.

"I did!" cried the large martini guzzling Smelt,
who wore opera gloves on his fins and a faux raccoon pelt.
"I had no idea what it was or how it was spelled!"

So if you need a moral to be dealt,
and want to know who spilled your spelt
better make sure that your smelt
knows how spelt should be spelled.



M C Biegner
6/2005

* - Note: spelt is a hardy European wheat. It can also refer to an old spelling of the past tense of the verb "to spell" but that is not its context here... or is it?