Cherub - A Partially True Fairy Tale

“I like it; go get it and stand it right there.” The ‘It’ was a concrete bird bath It was heavy as hell; about all I could bear I struggled… my wife had a laugh She’d seen it online; it was selling ‘as seen’ A gift bought for our feathered friends Those birds seemed quite wary, why might that have been? I guess that it rather depends…. **** Twas something not right in the garden that night Something I didn’t suspect If some ancient sage had shared his insight A hammer would quickly correct But there on the cobbles where it had been stood A cherub, supporting a bowl Innocuous really, it looked fairly good Though its face hid a mischievous soul Its face wasn’t pretty, I say without pity It was made of grit, sand and cement Its stone composition could not have ambition It could neither sin nor repent But hindsight they say is a wonderful thing And I now know it bided its time It held itself back and then launched its attack Can concrete be guilty of crime? It’s sunny in May, here in the UK And my wife got the sun lounger out But, occupied, I, heard a godawful cry What was all the melee about My wife was spread-eagled on our cobbled deck Her blood puddled there on the ground The large concrete bowl that the cherub had shed Was its weapon… and all that I found I helped my wife up while avoiding the glare Which I told myself couldn’t be real Of that concrete face with its grey concrete hair Then agony made my wife squeal With no time to waste we drove off in haste The hospital wasn’t too far But all I could see was that cherub’s stone face And I felt it was there in my car Well it got it wrong; my wife was too strong No statue could take her from me She lay in a bed for a week that was long I decided to set us both free I’m sure in my mind that it wasn’t unkind For inanimate objects can’t think But I saw its face and it felt out of place I intended to kick up a stink I bought me a hammer, a big whammer slammer I planned to rain all kinds of trouble To convince that cherub to plead with a stammer Then smash it to bits at the double Its face simply shattered as bits of it scattered Each hammer blow harming it more I stopped when the cherub was thoroughly battered Then there was a tap on the door The love of my life held a huge hunting knife A sure sign the cherub had lost But she was dull grey in a concrete like way And it seemed that I must pay the cost I knew, what she muttered, the cherub had uttered It spoke with a snarl in its voice “What is it you want?” I fearfully stuttered It said, “You or me… make your choice!”