Tiger, Tiger, Sparkling Bright. Poem by Thomas Vaughan Jones

(With apologies to William Blake)

There’s a tiger in my bathroom
fixing me with feral grin,
golden eyes and shaded menace.
Who the Devil let him in? .

He’s been sitting in my bathroom
probably at least an hour,
I’ve just come in from the garden
and I’d love to take a shower.

Why is he sat in my bathroom?
I just haven’t got a clue.
He’s been there for simply ages,
and I’m busting for the loo.

There a tiger in my bathroom,
looking smug, complacent: (STOUT?)
Hope he hasn’t ate my missus!
Strange! I’ve not seen her about.

Great sharp claws within my bathroom,
long white teeth, look like they’d hurt.
Licks a morsel from his whiskers.
(Hope he doesn’t want dessert.)

There a tiger in my bathroom.
He’s been sitting there all day.
I just nurse my stricken bladder,
nothing else to do or say.

What a friendly little tiger,
that grim smile is just a fake.
He just wants to read my poetry.
(Thought that I was William Blake.)

Now he’s sitting, quite contented
in his fearful symmetry,
while I sit upon the toilet
spouting awful poetry.

Soon he stretches mighty muscles,
stands up, says to me“ Good Day!
Sorry that I ate your missus……”
Then he softly walks away.