At 3pm she serves her handmade guests tea,
positioning them in their miniature chairs
so they can admire her handiwork.
Teddy loves its fiery breath,
Polly nods uncontrollably in agreement,
her eyes blinded by the Brother a long time ago,
but Humpty Dumpty is scared of its horns.
At 6pm, on the way back from her bath,
the Brother pounces,
twisting her arm behind her back,
“I have srayed the dragon,” he menaces. Tell on pain of tickring death!”
In her room,
she finds her exhibition guests in contorted poses,
the graffiti spray still wet
across her masterpiece:
NEVER MIND THE BOLLOCKS, HERE’S THE SEX PISTOLS!”
On pain of death or not, this time she will tell.