By Fleur Lind
When Grandma O’Driscoll found a pistol
In a tin beneath Grandad’s bed
She went to the larder, didn’t need to look harder
And replaced the biscuit tin taken by Ned.
When the biscuits and slices, muffins, and cakes
Were back in their rightful place
Grandma O’Driscoll took the pistol
And loaded it just in case.
There had been a poacher who’d been getting closer
To the chooks, the geese, and the ducks
The girls weren’t happy, making Grandad snappy
To see them running amok.
Feathers were moulting, they looked revolting
It was a scene that was sad to see
So Grandma O’Driscoll took that pistol
And Hid behind a tree.
In the dead of night when the moon was bright
Just a hoot from the owl in the tree
Those poachers arrived, armed with knives
They hadn’t come for scones and tea.
Grandma O’Driscoll raised that pistol
With a calm and steady hand
She pulled the trigger as they stood near the digger
The crack rang out through the land.
The poachers yelped, but nobody helped
Being shot in the bum isn’t nice
But it was just a graze, Grandmas intended to faze
Not to kill either once or twice.
Grandpa came out and gave a shout
“Clear off, you bastards”, he cried
Or I’ll get out my shotgun and aim for your bum
You’ll not walk for a month, wish you’d died.
The poachers took off like a rocket, knives in their pocket
“The show’s over, we’d better run!”
They never came back, after that crack
From Grandpa O’Driscoll’s gun.
The pistol had delivered justice once more
After years in the biscuit tin
I used that to save lives in the war, you know
He said full of pride, with a grin.
“Well poachers be gone! It’s time for a brew”
Grandma O’Driscoll took Ned’s hand
She had stood up to the mongrels, without any frills
Just her old coat, the pistol and love of their land.
The tea was hot, the biscuits were fresh
The tin now stored the baking instead
Grandma O’Driscoll returned that pistol
Wrapped in a tea towel
And placed it safely back under the bed.
Check out more short stories at Fleur’s website – fleursfabulousfables.wordpress.com