COMEDY Poem: He Left Me in a Pickle, by Drew Martyn

He left me in a pickle
I don’t know what to do!
He took my books and records
And left for someone new.

His Daddy owns a factory
Makes jams and fruit preserve:
He’s a fruity millionaire, I thought,
And just what I deserve.

I loved him for his money
I’m not ashamed to say.
But he left me in a pickle
The day he walked away.

Our friendship soured swiftly
For he’d often scream and shout.
He’s the kind of undead psycho
They wrote Zombieland about.

I’m not complaining, really
I don’t care he ran away,
But he stole my books and records
And he’ll sell ’em on eBay.

He never liked my music,
Liked some books (but not a lot).
And since he left, I’m now defined
By what I haven’t got.

He’d often leave me in the dark
While he raved and slept about.
He’s the sort of man lights up a room
Just by walking out.

I met him at Dad’s factory,
Where I begged him for my books.
He looked at me with vitriol
And scornful, dirty looks.

I got nowhere pleading
Amongst the berries and the fruit.
He stole my books and records
And he didn’t give a hoot!

The factory was busy:
All noise and fruity smells
All steam and huge machinery
– And a scream, his yell from Hell

I didn’t push him, honestly!
Maybe frightened by a rat
He tripped… slipped off the walkway
Into a giant vat…

His end was truly painful:
In boiling syrup drowned,
Amongst the berries vanished
Without a single sound.

I’ve lost my books and records
Yet I no longer give a damn!
Because he left me in a pickle –
But I left him in a jam