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Poetry
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| Salt Dough | |
| By MikeMorris | ||||||||
| 10 August 2006 | ||||||||
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Salt-Dough 'Let's make some salt-dough! ' Gracie cried. And Grandad sighed, 'O.K.' (Her Mum and Dad had left the child With Grandad for the day) A light blinked on in Grandad's brain 'But I don't know how, ' he said. 'It's easy, ' bubbled Gracie, 'It's a bit like baking bread.' 'Just get me flour and get me salt And a little water to mix it, Then we'll add some drops of cooking oil, That really ought to fix it.' The dough was made by Gracie's hand And a lovely figure appeared, A lady with a hat and shawl. Now Grandad grew a-feared. For salt-dough models are made hard By a process akin to firing. Dare he plead the cooker was broke, Some problem with the wiring? But Gracie could surmount this fault. With a face quite stern and grave, 'Grandad, if the cooker's broke, We'll use the microwave.' The deed was done, the model in, A problem raised its head. How long do you bake salt-dough for? 'Five minutes on full, ' Gracie said. But long before the time was up, Alas and Oh! Alack, The kitchen was filled with billowing smoke, Dense and acrid and black. 'Go in the garden, ' Grandad gasped As the smoke alarms went off, He opened all doors and windows As he fought with a choking cough. At last the smoke was wafted out And Gracie allowed back in. 'Do you think I could paint my model now? ' She asked with a cheeky grin. We'll draw a veil over Grandad's words, Suffice it to be told Her Mum was shocked when from Gracie's lips The self same phrases rolled. Now Grandad's banned the microwave When Gracie comes to stay. And if you mention 'salt-dough' His hair turns a lighter grey. His eyes will then glaze over, His face turn a deeper red. 'Don't ever mention those words again, Until you're sure I'm dead.'
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