The Enchanted Sandwich (SpookySpells#4)

Semolina Charlton-Spanners
was a youth quite short on manners,
for her hobby, she’d confess,
was being a pain, no more, no less.

Flicking jam at passing posties,
scoffing all the Sunday roasties,
poking policemen with a stick
or claiming that her mum was thick,
were things this girl just loved to do
and wouldn’t rest till day was through.

She really was an awful fright,
this wildly uncouth troglodyte,
so much that both her mum and dad
grew faces that were glum and sad.

Then, in a café eating cake,
she made a terrible mistake:
young Semolina shouted out
some unwise candid thoughts about
a lady with a pointed hat,
a crooked nose and mangy cat,
who slurped her drink of China tea
from off a saucer noisily.

“Good grief!” the girl was heard to blurt,
“that woman in the tatty skirt
sounds like a walrus swigging beer,”
and pointed rudely with a sneer.

Then out the blue there came a flash,
some lilac smoke, a fizz, a crash
and from the lady’s hidden wand,
some zig zag bolts flew out beyond
the tip and hit the girl full square
upon the nose and derrière.

Before her Mum’s astonished eyes,
young Semolina changed in size
till she transformed, in plainest language,
into an egg and bacon sandwich.

“Oh dear,” said Mum “what shall I do?”
“Don’t worry,” said the lady who
whipped out a broom to sit astride,
strapped on the cat just for the ride.

“A handsome prince is what’s required.
Put out an advert, get one hired!
And with this muffin, you should know,
into the fridge she’ll need to go.”
Then with a wave and fond adieu,
out through the window, off she flew.

“OK …” said Mum, who quite perturbed,
told hubby what had just occurred;
placed daughter with the milk and butter
in the fridge, to whine and mutter;
wrote adverts for a prince who’d please
with royal sandwich expertise
then waited for their house to fill
with noble guests imperial.

But Semolina, unconvinced
about the skills of any prince,
refused the lot with words quite rude
which shocked the royal multitude.

Prince Longshanks was too tall it seemed,
Prince Gummy’s teeth just didn’t gleam,
Prince Carbuncle was far too spotty,
Prince Hooter’s nose was rather snotty,
She didn’t like Prince Fluffy’s beard,
Prince Pongo smelt a little weird.

Too small, too fat, too old, too smooth;
there wasn’t one that she’d approve
and come the end of that long day,
they’d all been packed off on their way.

Now Semolina’s mum felt sleepy,
dazed, confused and slightly weepy,
tucked her daughter up in bed
inside the fridge like soft cheese spread.

Then with a somewhat late encore,
there came a tapping on the door.
“Oh I can’t face another sorrow …
Ask them to come back tomorrow.”

So Mr Charlton-Spanners went
to look outside where stood a gent
quite handsome, thin, a little rough,
with beaming smile and charm enough
to make this hassled father think
perhaps he’d offer him a drink.

“I am Prince Kevin of Torquay
and I would love a cup of tea.”

To make a brew would be worthwhile
thought Dad if Kev could raise a smile
upon his daughter’s butty face;
sort out the spell and hex displace.

“Just walk this way and sit you down.
I am convinced my poor wife’s frown
will vanish when she’s made aware
of all the qualities you bear.”

Before he gave his wife the news,
he asked Prince Kevin to peruse
the fridge in which the sandwich lay
above the veg and salad tray.

Then finding Mrs Charlton-Spanners
in her curlers and pyjamas,
told her of the royal youth
now sipping tea downstairs, forsooth.

So popping on her dressing gown,
she followed her dear hubby down
the stairs to stare shocked and aghast
at what the pair had not forecast,
for there inside their kitchen sat
the royal prince with his cravat
used as a makeshift serviette
to dab his lips as etiquette
demands when one has finished scoffing
a tasty egg and bacon muffin.

“Most excellent!” Prince Kevin cried.
“I shall with honour and with pride
confer the patronage requested
on the sandwich now digested.”

He looked around, as parents gazed
upon the empty plate amazed,
then coughed politely to attract
attention in this final act:
“Now that I’ve had my royal supper,
could I have another cuppa?”

So this advice I’d like to share:
don’t be a pain, just be aware
of wizened ladies slurping tea
with mangy cats for likely she
will zap you into something strange,
where all your features rearrange,
until you find you’re on your back
upon a plate; a tasty snack.