The ice-cream container was held up high,
A hand groped blindly and fingers were crossed:
“Black 21” was the call, and a sigh
Came from the parishioners who had lost.
Beryl, again, had bagged the weekly chook:
Norma was green, couldn’t shake the tension,
Once at her Kia she turned back to look.
How did you make ends meet on the pension?
Maybe one day she would feel elation.
Shapes and Coon specials were her salvation.
After some key fumbling, off drove Norma,
Yearning for a Jayco, somewhere warmer.