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There are Dinosaurs at bottom of my garden.
It gives the Martians a lot to think about.
They stopped arguing with the Moon Men,
who sit there drinking pints of milk stout.
The visitors from Venus are appalling.
Their table manners leave us all aghast,
with endless ‘phone calls to the Martians
who give their Laser Rifles a quick blast.
In Surbiton this all seems quite surprising.
In Shrewsbury, it probably would pass.
We would not all feel so downhearted,
if the Dinosaurs did not eat all the grass.
In the supermarket, the Martians are welcome.
Martian Euros seem acceptable inside.
Their three hands fill each trolley so quickly,
as down the aisles on all five legs they glide.
Tyranosaurus comes snorting frightfully,
chased by Martians, each with Laser Rifle,
but from the supermarket come running,
Venusians who then smother it with trifle.
If you think this situation is really nutty,
in fact absolutely as stupid as can be,
listen to scary talk of Dinosaurs and Aliens
by switching on your Radio or T.V.
© Copyright F H Bond
2002
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