Cannibal Picnic

Foreword: we’re all aware of the ’pot ate oh’ and ‘pert arter’ debate... well, in some English accents (including my own) there is a third version: ‘per tay ter’. I lean toward this pronunciation in this poem... So please don’t throw stones... or pertarters. Two cannibals went hunting humans one day Hoping a decent meal might come their way They came to a beach and there was a boat A skin and bone man said, ‘I’m six weeks afloat’ Because he was boney with so little muscle They skewered that sailor with barely a tussle A fire they lit and then over it They perched our survivor like meat on a spit One cannibal said he was off to find wood You keep him turning to cook him real good And then in an hour he stood there aghast He’d never seen anyone turn meat so fast His mate was rotating the spit roast like crazy His victim’s arms flailing so fast they were hazy The other one said turn it slow or be sure That damned skinny human is gonna be raw Well, the cannibal cook said with undisguised ire I’m having to spin him fast over the fire. So he won’t be cooked till quite a lot later ’cause each revolution he nicks a potater