Party Piece

The lady in the bright cerise,
stood to do her party piece
and stuffed a shrinking violin,
underneath her double chin.

She gripped it tightly by the throat
as though to strangle every note,
while frenzied bow did dreadful things
to wildly trembling, untuned strings.

The shrill cacophony of sound,
wilted pot plants stood around,
demoralised the dog and cat
who fled the scene in seconds flat.

Notes intended pure and sweet,
fell mauled and mangled at her feet,
yet callously she fiddled on
until the song was dead and gone.

When she had lain aside her bow,
we all stood with heads bowed low,
in memory of that sweet refrain
that had been so foully slain.