Ted

Ted could not explain why or wherefore

His wife needled and needled him.

‘What is the reason?

Is this not the season for flight?

Seek oracular advice

At Delphi

And while there ponder Daedalus.’

Then she plucked a cheese

From her husband’s cheek

He read Attic Greek

And was a poet in a very minor fashion

His rhymes grotesque

And would digress biblical

He dreamt idly

While deep thought rendered his nauseous

A miserable stink in the Styx

Or something like sausage

‘You miserable stink.’

‘No lower,’ he replied, ‘than the Styx can I sink.’