[Douglas G. Brown]

Come into my kitchen, Lord Tennyson;
I’ve seen how you give me the eyeball.
I’m boiling a stew of fine venison.
Relax, and I’ll mix you a highball.

It is midnight, and done is the dance;
A draught from my cup makes you drowsy.
You have urges to get in the pants
Of maidens like me, slightly frowsy.

You think I’m a sexual thriller;
But Alf, I am virginally chaste.
Why, in fact I’m a serial killer
With cannibalistical tastes.

You entered with visions of wooing,
But now that your breathing has ceased;
I will soon have your body a-stewing,
And you’ll make a delectable feast.


(I must admit that I have always been more of a fan of that other British Alfred, Alfred Hitchcock.)