This October half-term, Jo left us a gift.
Mikado, a thin, straight straw of a biscuit.
One we all liked, a cracker and a sparkler,
although for us the chocolate could be darker.
Mikado, we thought the name was Chinese,
and the Chinese invented the gunpowder
that Guy Fawkes laid for a bang far louder.
Soldiers found him, with a match, on his knees.
Judges decided to string him up high.
Now all that remains is the shabby old guy,
ragged and stuffed, an ugly, grinning mask,
slumped by a wall where the children ask
for your money and mine. Mikado, the name
it turns out, of a European game,
where the highest stick is the Japanese
ruler. ‘Would you like another one?’ ‘Yes please.’
As for the biscuits, the poem Brian forgot
and if he could he’d have eaten the lot.