I turn the table on a fable

By Joan Vaughan-Taylor

The ‘Alisop’ is my favourite pub. It’s Freddie Fable’s place
To drink a beer, a whisky, rum, or put bets on a race.
The under agers, up themselves, are often spotted there.
One classed himself a sprinter and his name was Harry Hare.

Backpacker, Trevor Tortus, was lolling by the bar.
Itinerant, he traveled slow, but man, he’d traveled far.
When Freddie once suggested that the two should have a race
Young Harry changed to orange juice, so he’d keep up the pace.

Thus Freddy Fable staged the bets. They came from everywhere,
All keen to put their money on the runner Harry Hare.
I put ten bucks on Trevor T. at twenty five to one
Then sat up on the grandstand, there to contemplate the fun.

Well, Harry Hare, he got away to quite a flying start
But hiccups on the second lap upset the apple cart.
You’ll guess that Trevor won the race.  The punters were so mad.
But I collected wads of notes which sent me homeward — glad

Because I’d slowed one down a bit, an action trifle risky.
For I’d doped Harry’s orange juice with Freddy Fable’s whisky.
They’re lately contemplating rules — drug testing for the truth.
If they introduce it here, I’ll fight it nail and tooth.

Some losers voiced suspicious thoughts on what was in that juice.
So I don’t drink with Allsops now, but at the ‘Golden Goose’.

I TURN THE TABLE ON A FABLE