A culinary tour-de-force, Is sardines and tomato sauce, And once upon a time I was fan. In point of fact I thought it wise To stock emergency supplies, So into the Nissan toolbox went a can.
For many months I drove about And never had the toolbox out; Without a hitch I travelled near and far, But then, it couldn't be denied That something horrible had died, And not beside the road, but in the car !
I searched the Nissan high and low, Wherever wounded snakes might go, Or where a rat could crawl away to die, Until at last, in sheer despair, I saw that toolbox lying there, So thought I'd better give it one last try.
I opened up the metal lid And nearly fainted when I did, Beneath that pestilential Devil's brew; An odious, malignant smell, Straight from the rotting bowels of Hell. (It hit me like a lump of four-by-two.)
That sardine can that I forgot, Was opened up and left to rot; Punctured by a sharpened tool somehow, And even though I scrubbed it well, I couldn't wash away that smell; It lingers in the Nissan even now.
* * *
So if we meet along the track, And should you offer me a snack, I'd gladly share a plate of ham and beans, Sinkers and jam, wallaby stew, Or even pan-fried cockatoo, But please, don't try to tempt me with sardines !
©Keith Lethbridge. July 07 2004