Ms Jones Gives Birth

In Wigan town, in Compton Street

The patter made by tiny feet

Had blessed each occupant in turn,

With only two to cause concern

Miss Pattie Jones, and boyfriend Ben

(That Yuppie pair at number ten)

Had waited SO LONG for the stork

That neighbours had begun to talk

One fateful day Miss Jones declared

“NO MORE maternally impaired!”

And spent the morning being sick

And testing urine with a stick

Once done, she cried, “it’s turning blue”,

I’m up the spout – about time too!”

Ms Jones forthwith kicked drugs and booze

Told the neighborhood her news

And, as soon as she had viewed the scan

Gestation for Miss Jones began

As weeks went by, her symptoms changed

She first grew placid, then deranged

The strangest food would pass her lips

To form perhaps child-bearing hips

In weight, in size, Miss Jones increased

This was the nurture of the beast

She next moved to the heartburn stage

Which only ice-cream could assuage

She asked, “can this – impending motherhood,

So adversely affect one’s mood?”

“Oh yes”, friends cried, “completely  normal

To act psychotic, mad, hormonal!

Just wait until your last few weeks

Insomnia, hiccups, awkward leaks!”

‘Friends’ gleefully spelled out her fate

While Miss Jones, anxious, ate and ate!

And so she reached the final stage

When all her organs (plus ribcage)

Had moved aside to make more room

For Junior, inside her womb

By now she looked a sorry sight

Who’d grown in every way, but height

With bloated body, aching back

Ms Jones could only snooze and snack

So when her due date loomed at last

This mum-to-be was simply VAST!

The next day when Ms Jones awoke

As if on cue, her water broke

“TODAY!” she gushed, triumphantly

“TODAY MY INNER CHILD BREAKS FREE!!”

 But at the actual time of birth

The stork could hardly lift from earth

And neighbours joked with mild distain

“T’was less a stork, and more a crane”

 So if you’re passing Wigan town

By air, and happen to look down

You’ll spot a HUGE pram far below

And a figure pacing to and fro

A figure with loose flaps of skin

Desperate to look lithe and thin

But ‘Junior’ has no such aims     

As his hunger to Ms Jones proclaims

Proud mum peers in the pram with pride,

…Smiles at the behemoth babe inside 

But, staring back the giant head,

Just screams and screams until it’s fed…

Helga Hewston 2013

 

 

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