Jake the Cake (II) January 7, 2011

 

 

She thought it looked a little odd, the table in her ward:

laid with napkins, silver-spoons and bowls.

The waiter standing by her bed seemed out of place and bored,

complaining that “the custard’s going cold!”

.

A midwife came, she shook her head, “Your son is none too well.

We’ll bring him to you now, but be prepared.

He doesn’t look as you’d expect, but what a lovely smell!

All cinnamon and cream, so don’t be scared!”

.

But when she saw him, how she screamed, “My Jake, my darling Son!

What went wrong? There must be some mistake!

His legs are made of gingerbread, his chest’s a currant bun

and worst of all, his head’s a piece of cake!”

.

“Having children made of cake can be extremely nice!”

The midwife tried to offer her a spoon.

“It’s good to share them with your friends, so could I have a slice?

I think the coffee trolley’s coming soon!”

.

“It’s caused by eating too much cake in French patisseries.”

Silver tears streaked down the mother’s cheek.

“And such excessive intake gave Jake Gateau-Head disease.

I’m sorry, but I doubt he’ll last a week.”

.

Four days old, Jake’s head grew mould and reeked of putrefaction.

His almonds blanched, his raisins all turned pale.

The doctor cried “we must be bold and take some drastic action.

He’s past his use-by-date and going stale!”

.

But cream transfusions couldn’t stop Jake’s journey into night.

His mother said “I’m simply lost for words!

It seems a waste to bury him,” so later on that night

she threw him in the garden for the birds.

.

Paul Hughes 2011

Jake the Cake March 6, 2008

 

 

Now a story, so tragic, so horrid, I’ll tell

of malevolent magic  which one day befell

two good people who lived just outside Motherwell.

 

They had waited nine months for the birth of their child

the father was loving, the mother was mild

the name they’d selected for their first-born was Jake

but the scans hadn’t seen that his head was a cake.

 

At the moment our hero emerged from the womb

the mother gasped, wept, and fell into a swoon

the midwife boiled custard and then called for a spoon

 

consultants and researchers pored through libraries and books

then turned to great philosophers and modern pastry cooks

the answer, as it turned out, was the mother’s awful diet

For every time she’d seen a cake she felt compelled to try it

 

Jake’s mother had abstained from booze, tobacco and blue cheese

Instead she always spent her time in French patisseries

and her excessive intake gave Jake “Gateau-Head disease”

 

Four days old, Jake’s head grew mould and reeked of putrefaction

The doctor cried “we must be bold and take some drastic action

He’s past his best, his almonds blanched, his raisins have turned pale

I hate to have to tell you this, he really is quite stale”

 

His cream transfusions failed to stop Jake’s journey into night

and at his wake there was a rather strange satanic sight

when relatives who nibbled said “Jake’s jam still tastes alright.”

 

 

 

Paul Hughes 2008