The Bed & the Wardrobe

I had an Indian Fakir come

To stay, from Uttar Pradesh,

I was doing a friend a favour,

I don’t, as a rule, have guests,

I couldn’t make out a single word

He said, and so my friend

Provided a written commentary

To guide me, in the end.

It seems he was naming my furniture

It’s something that they do,

In places that are incongruous

Like the depths of Kalamazoo,

And he wanted to give them English names

So he asked my friend’s advice,

In case I couldn’t pronounce them,

Well, at least the thought was nice.

My armchair became Albert

And my settee Gunga Din,

I suppose he thought it would be okay

As it was from Kipling.

The tallboy was called Gerald

And the wardrobe, simply Joe,

The polished table Cheryl

And the kitchen one was Flo.

I’m glad that he wrote them down because

I can’t remember names,

Just that the bed was Susan

And the kitchen sink was James,

Some of them were portentous like

Ignatius, for the desk,

While each of the kitchen chairs was given

A name that ends with -este.

Celeste, Impreste, Doneste and Geste

And then of course, Ingeste,

I couldn’t remember which was which,

My friend was not impressed.

We bade farewell to the Fakir

And the Wardrobe flapped its doors,

And rumbled out a ‘Goodbye my friend’

From between its mighty jaws.

Then voices rose in a chorus from

Each part of my tidy home,

The names had given them each a voice,

It was rowdier than Rome,

The voices were accusatory

Trying to lay some guilt,

And Susan said of the Wardrobe, Joe,

‘He’s looking up my quilt!’

‘How could I help it,’ Joe replied,

‘I’m at the foot of the bed,

You’re flashing me with your silken sheets,

It’s doing in my head!’

While Albert grumbled in voice so deep,

‘Do I have to be a chair?

Each time you plonk on my tender seat

I’m gasping out for air!’

Then the kitchen chairs were out of place

And James was choked with suds,

The carpet, name of Emily

Was sick of traipsing mud.

It seemed that the polished table top

Was scratched, and she was mad,

The desk disliked my keyboard so

To each, I answered ‘Sad!’

‘You’re going to have to get along

I won’t put up with this,

Until that Fakir came along

This house was perfect bliss.’

I did away with their English names,

Replaced them with Chinese,

But they couldn’t speak a word of it

So I brought them to their knees!

And peace returned to Grissom Place

Just as I thought it would,

I made it plain to Wardrobe Joe

‘You’re just a lump of wood.’

While Susan smooths her quilt right down

And tucks her sheets right in,

And James just blubs, he’s full of suds

As I nap on Gunga Din!

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Devanshu Rajput]

Now, the Indian Fakir. Mr, David you can just anything out of nothing.

The Fakir not only christened the objects, but he also put lives in them. I am Indian, and I still didn't know that our Fakirs from Uttar Pradesh can also do that(I also live in Uttar Pradesh) lol

I wonder, why did not not the Fakir gave them Hindi names. lol

This one is really a hilarious one. I liked your concept of changing the names of the objects with Chinese ones.

Brilliant!

Thanks for sharing and making us laugh.

Devanshu

[Lizardo]

I love this writing, Made me smile for today!
A really great piece of poetry, I love poems like this

[Barbz]

I found this write Hilarious, the thought of changing names. Sounding what the kids would do when they were out of games. Not only did he change their names, but gave them each a voice, and you could hear all grumble, for they did not have a choice. Most names were absurd, perhaps not in Kalamazoo. The Throne in room not mentioned, think he might have called it Lew!! Lol. Barbz