The Confessions of Henry Hooter the Third (3 page)

The Pumpkin laughed out loud:

“I don't mind being fat at all,

I sometimes feel like a cloud

Or like snow that's about to fall.”

“I see,” Horseradish replied,

“Well, that's fine for you, I suppose;

As for me, I could grow if I tried …

Want to see? Alright – here goes!”

So he blew and he blew and he blew

And got terribly red in the face,

And he grew and he grew and he grew

And went POP! (without leaving a trace).

Charles the woodworm

is sitting for his exam:

“So many types of wood

all I can say is DAMN!

Coniferous… deciduous…

always mix up the two.

Oh, the world would be a forest

if we'd no exams to do.”

The Italian tomato, Tomasi, is going around

depressed:

“Oh, what a bully, that coconut. I'll tear all the

hair off his chest!”

“Si, si,” says the Spanish lemon, “I agree –

damn his hide.'

Shall we open him up, amigo? I'm sure he is

milky and watery inside!”

Harry the ant

He wore no clothes

No clothes

No clothes at all!

I can't

I can't

Said Harry the ant …

Why? Sure nobody knows.

No clothes

No clothes

He wore no clothes

He wore no clothes at all.

What did he wear?

He wore a rose

At the Earwig's Fancy Ball.

I have trimmed my eyebrows and lashes too,

Put powder all over my nose,

Painted my lips a fashionable blue

To match my toes.

Let us dance, sweet jackass, me and you

In our best clothes:

You are fragrant and gentle – rain on a rose –

You know that I love you – I do!

We're not very common, said the Vole,

In fact one might say we are rare,

Don't expect us in any old hole –

There are few of us voles to spare.

Our club is well known –
The Élite
–

MEMBERS ONLY PLEASE!

We frown upon smelly feet

And voles that don't know how to sneeze!

Don't call me a mool

To rhyme with a stool

I'm a mule –

Fool!

MULE!

Did I hear you say mool?

You can jump in a pool!

I'm a mule –

Ghoul!

MULE!

So you think it's real cool

To call me a mool –

Were you never at school?

Fool!

I'M A MULE!

Henry Hooter had a flea,

He pecked at it and hurt his knee:

“I greatly fear, I greatly fear

This flea might end up in my ear!”

Henry Hooter had a flea,

It tickled him: “Oo! Hee–hee!

Little flea, please go away

And don't come back another day.”

Henry Hooter had a flea,

“Why pick on me? Flea, why me?

Where are you flea? Speak up! Where?

Damn your hide! It just ain't fair!”

Henry Hooter had a flea,

He pecked at it and hurt his knee:

“I greatly fear, I greatly fear

This flea might vanish up my rear!”

Who was the first to blow his nose?

Who was the first to tip his toes?

Who the first to pluck a rose?

Who first scratched his head?

Who first baked bread?

Who first fell out of bed?

Who was the first to sail a ship?

Who was the first to bite his lip?

Who the first to swallow a pip?

Who first milked a cow?

Who first enquired how?

Who first learned to bow?

Who was the first to dream a dream?

Who was the first to scream a scream?

Who the first to whip cream?

Who first climbed a hill?

Who first – Jack or Jill?

Who first paid a bill?

Who was the first to never say “Blast!”

Who was the first to break a fast?

Who the first to come in last?

You thought I was dead!

Well I'm back,

seeing red!

Dead as a dodo?

No no! No no!

I was hiding all along…

Now my friends,

Here's my song:

Dead as a dodo?

No no! No no!

Dead as a dodo?

No no! No no!

I hid under a rock,

I hid under a tree,

I said to myself:

‘They're not going to get me!'

Dead as a dodo?

No no! No no!

I hid beside a cliff,

I hid in a cave,

I said to myself,

‘I must be brave!'

Dead as a dodo?

No no! No no!

Dead as a dodo?

No no! No no!

I hid in a gully,

I hid in a creek,

Every day

Was hide–and–go–seek.

Dead as a dodo?

No no! No no!

I hid in a gutter,

I hid in a sewer,

All my companions

Getting fewer and fewer.

Dead as a dodo?

No no! No no!

Dead as a dodo?

No no! No no!

I'm unique,

It's my beak!

Or – if you prefer – my bill…

It gives everyone a thrill!

I may seem to be a freak

(Because of my beak)

But, actually, I'm unique.

I've even been called an antique!

Indeed – if I may dare –

I would call myself quite rare!

You see, it's my bill – or my beak –

Which I beg you not to tweak!

It's not easy being a rat,

You could end up just like that – Splat!

How hard it is to be a rat.

Why wasn't I born a fat

Cat?

And yet… I like being a rat,

Even though sometimes I'm spat

At!

Dear Friend,

(You can skip this and go to the end):

As you can see, I am out of breath,

This is a matter of life and death.

Please, please

Please send some cheese.

French blue would be fine

And a little drop of wine.

If you have some cheddar

All the better.

Just, please.

Send cheese.

If it has holes, I don't mind,

Oh, by the way, I'm fond of the rind.

I don't care if it's smelly!

Can't you hear my rumbling belly?

Please, please,

Send cheese.

It can be dreamy

Or soft and creamy

Swiss

Would be bliss.

I could say much

About Dutch.

From a sheep, or a goat, or a cow,

Just send it anyhow.

It can be yellow or green

(I don't care where it's been).

White?

That's alright.

Write to me soon, if you please.

(P.S. Don't forget the cheese).

A centipede

Is not known for its speed

But she has a hundred legs

And can lay eggs

Not bad? Pretty good, I'd say!

How many eggs can you lay?

A centipede…

Indeed.

Every time a centipede wiggles

The earth giggles

And says: ‘Tickle me some more!

Tickle me to the core!'

The earth needs

Its centipedes.

G
ABRIEL
R
OSENSTOCK
(below) is a poet, author/translator of over 150 books, mostly in Irish. He taught haiku at the Schule für Dichtung (Poetry Academy) in Vienna. Among his awards is the Tamgha I Kidmat medal for services to literature.

His vast output includes stage plays, plays for radio and television (RTÉ, Raidió na Life), novels and short stories, essays, criticism, travel literature, children's literature in prose and verse, including Irish versions of such classics as
The Gruffalo
and hundreds of translations of TV series such as
Spongebob
and
The Muppet Show.
Among the anthologies in which he is represented is
Best European Fiction 2012
(Dalkey Archive Press, USA).

M
ÍCHEÁL
Ó
H
A
ODHA
lectures in the Department of History, University of Limerick. He has published widely on Irish migration, the Irish diaspora, social geography and oral history. His books include American
‘Outsider':Stories from the Irish Traveller Diaspora
(2007, with T.J. Vernon);
‘The Turn of the Hand': A Memoir from the Irish Margins
(2010, with Mary Ward) and
‘On the Run': The Diary of an Irish Republican
(2011, with Ruan O'Donnell).