Out on the cloth laid the brave sixteen, together with a
sauce boat and one tureen. A bottle of champagne
was chilled to the bone as it stood in a bucket all alone.
Napkins were set in all four places, so that the enemy
could wipe their hungry faces.
The turkey was carved but this was no Thanksgiving, it
was a table battle and it was just beginning.
The battle commenced as soon as they ate it was like
no mans land as they filled their plate.
Half a league, half a league as they grabbed spuds
by the score, then half a league onward they fell to the
floor. Sprouts to the left of them carrots to the right,
boldly they went into the fight.
Into the jaws of death went the brave sixteen, but the
fight was not over it was becoming a battle scarred scene.
Pepper pot to the left and salt pot to the right as
they charged up the table on a cloth of white.
Champagne popping like cannon balls as they
volleyed and thundered then hit the walls; what
a battle of these drunken fools.
Then all what was left was the battery smoke, because
right through the line the tureen had broke.
Then the white linen cloth was used as a flag of surrender
because the sauce boat got angry and went on a bender.
Cranberry sauce looked like blood on the moor, when it
upped and turned then lay dead on the floor.
At the sight of the carnage the maid retreated, it was battle
won and she had been defeated.
As for the survivors and the brave sixteen they now have to be
tortured in a washing up machine.
sylvia spencer
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/battle-of-the-drunken-fools-a-spoof-poem-taken-from-the-charge-of-the-light-brigade/
