After the second packet

Freddy really felt fat.

Some biscuit crumbs had travelled

From his jumper to his lap.

Maybe, Freddy thought,

I could wash it down with peach.

Unfortunately the fridge

Was four meters out of reach.

If he stood up now, he’d spill

Crumbs on Mum’s new carpet.

He thought of other options

Fishing biscuit from his armpit.

Suddenly a thought

Found it’s way to Freddy’s mind

A remote control

Was in the sofa; deep inside.

His toy helicopter

Could transport all the crumbs

Away from his belly,

All he needed was his thumbs.

He shifted and he struggled

And he fought to reach into

The sofas deepest depths

Pressing past pennies and goo.

As he grasped the controls

Something stirred behind the telly

The helicopter rose, and he

Sat it on his belly.

His bane the biscuit crumbs

In the cockpit gently placed

He flew away the enemy

Sweat dripping from his face.

Unfortunately the battery

Was just too nearly dead

The blades were stuttering

To Freddy’s agitated dread.

Down the ‘copter went

In a volatile spin,

Before the cargo had

Reached the safety of the bin.

And all the bits of biscuit,

To the very last crumb,

Spilled onto the carpet

That belonged to Freddy’s mum.

© Ben Cotton


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