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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-05
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1,040
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1/1
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The Battle Of Brushy Campground

Summary:

Poetry

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

The Battle Of Brushy Campground
by Sue Rand

 

Twas a gloomy night, and black

when the snails launched their attack

on the campers who'd invaded their campground.

Campers' tents got in the way

Campfires smoked and smoked all day

and their sleeping bags made mountains all around.

Snails had trouble getting out!

Couldn't find their way about,

every crawlway blocked with stacks and piles of gear.

Snails grew thinner, and yet thinner

missing luncheon, and then dinner

took them hours just to get from there, to here!

Now snails are a friendly folk,

quick to laughter, fond of joke,

but they'll only take so much and then they're through.

What with one thing and the next -

It was the smoke that had them vexed!

It parched them, so they couldn't make their glue.

They'd already tried protesting,

tried hinting, tried suggesting

campers leave. But all their protests were ignored!

Snails had marched (minding their manners),

through the campground, carrying banners,

But the campers only sat there looking bored.

They'd had campers up to here.

All those empty cans of beer!

Campers' trash, and fires, and obstacles, and leaks!

They'd had campers to the armpits

what to call them? "I think 'smarm' fits,"

Snarled one snail who hadn't seen his mate for weeks.

"With these campers we've been toying.

We must make ourselves annoying

If we want to drive them out for good this time.

The situation, you'll admit,

Calls for measures desperate.

And don't say we've no weapons, we've our slime!

Then the snails gathered in force

And after much discourse

And loud argument, they came up with a Plan.

All agreed, they would prevail.

"We will fight," vowed every snail,

"Till our slime cells dry beneath us!" - to a man.

Twenty snails set out togther

In the nastiest kind of weather

From their home beneath the campground's one restroom.

Twenty snails marching en masse

Making tracks across the grass,

On to victory! Or on to meet their doom.

On the snails crawled, on and on,

Till their glue was almost gone

Over campers' gear piled high and broad, and deep.

Over pots and pans and pie lids

They crawled over campers' eyelids

And stuck them all together in their sleep.

Then when all their slime was finished;

When their glue they'd quite diminished,

When with truth each snail could say" "I've given

all I have!"

With the dauntless deed accomplished

Twenty snails departed. Promptish.

Fled back to their homes beneath the campground's lav.

But their hopes all died a-borning

with the coming of the morning,

For the campers all undaunted, only washed everything clean.

Then as one they drew in breath -

Yelled as one, "To all snails, DEATH!"

They shook their fists and then, friends, they turned MEAN.

The sight of snails they didn't mind

Nor the tracks they left behind,

Nor even slime upon clothes campers' wore.

They'd have granted snails their spaces,

If they'd just stayed in their places,

But slime upon their faces made them sore.

Then the campers unabated

Decisively retaliated.

With something white and nasty from their shelves.

All the salt campers could spare

Campers sprinkled everywhere,

But most terminally, on the snails themselves.

This salt the campers poured

Simply could not be ignored.

Nor could the snails escape it - my friends, these

are the facts:

Quick as winking that salt dried them

every snail. Oh, woe betide them!

And melted them completely, in their tracks.

Cried the snail who'd lost his mate

"This is no time for debate.

"It's difficult, but somewhere, friends, I think we might have erred."

As he spoke there came a sighing,

A "So-long" -ing and "Goodbye!" -ing,

The saddest sound I think I've ever heard.

Then the campers all rejoiced

To see snails reduced to moist

mounds of shells and gluely jelly drying quickly in the sun.

"They won't bother us again,"

said the women and the men,

while their children cried, "Oh, too bad! That was FUN!"

 

Sure the snails had all been bested,

for a time the campers rested.

Went back to playing baseball, and ping pong.

Smug as owls campers retreated

Thinking all the snails defeated,

But in this, I'm glad to say, they were quite wrong.

For in that very same campground...

Lived snails campers weren't aware of

hadn't seen a hide nor hair of.

Encased in tiny eggs together, buried in the ground they lay.

Late that night there came a scratching,

as the infants began hatching.

The tide, my friends, it turned. That very day.

Having hatched, the infants crawled out

(Unafraid of being bawled out:

They'd no parents left to punish them or to scold when they were bad)

On the campground they descended

Totally unsuperintended

Bent on play. And oh, my, what a time they had!

In the morn when campers got up

went to heat the coffee pot up,

They took one look and then fell back, alarmed.

They saw snails doing half-gainers

Into Tupperware containers,

(filled with jello, so of course they were not harmed).

Infant snails did the Watusi

on their melons plump and juicy,

the hot dog buns and hot dogs they had stuck together fast.

Snails crawled over sliced tomatoes

tunneled through the mashed potatoes.

What a sight! Camper just stood there, flabberghast.

Everywhere they looked snails clustered

in the catsup and the mustard,

Each table wore a coat of snail glue, sticky, friends, and thick.

Snails in their potato salad

Turned the campers' faces pallid

And made them feel most violently sick.

Then without much more ado

Campers hastily withdrew,

Loaded up their cars and off they went in streaks.

In a body they all fled

Though they'd just got out of bed.

They didn't even stop to lace their sneaks.

Nor were they seen again.

Not the women, nor the men.

They just picked up the gear and toodle-ooed.

If there's one thing campers hate,

simply will not tolerate,

It's any sort of tampering with their food.

Thus through their innocent play

Those young snails won the day.

Brought peace to Brushy Campground's hills and dales.

And today if you should go there,

You won't find much grief and woe there

But you will find lots and lots of happy snails.

 

 

Regards, Susan

Notes:

This orphaned work was originally on Pejas WWOMB posted by author Sue Rand.
If this work is yours and you would like to reclaim ownership, you can click on the Technical Support and Feedback link at the bottom fo the page.