Mostly Harmless

The hapless, tea-drinking moppet from Earth
Hadn’t a clue he was just a glitch of software
The science of white mice decried his birth
As the Vogon’s blast left him threadbare
Save for the friend by the name of Ford
Who gave him a towel for the trip to space
Tortured by Vogon poetry, no art of word
Here is a sample, translated at Babel fish’s place,

“See, see the scary sky
Marvel at its big pink depths.
Tell me, Larry Burns do you
Wonder why the sloth ignores you?
Why its foobly stare
makes you feel snumblefaced.
I can tell you, it is
Worried by your grumplingshinks facial growth
That looks like
A yoghurt.
What's more, it knows
Your caustic potting shed
Smells of old custard.
Everything under the big scary sky
Asks why, why do you even bother?
You don’t even charm old socks”

After that the dear fish died, no surprise,
And the tea-drinker and Ford were out with the trash
By odds so improbable its impossible to surmise
Zaphod caught the guys on the back lash.
Adventures were made and the Earth’s reason found
A computer its said to work out the question, just one
The meaning of life, the universe and everything is sound
The answer is 42 but what was the problem to be done

It’s bothered me since the radio days
When that psychotic robot started gripping
A manic depressive with  miserable ways
I’m there on my bed thinking I’m tripping
There must be answers but mother called me for tea
With a frown and a moan I have to switch off
With wishes for a knack for Vogon poetry
Dedicated as is their way to mother… cough, cough

Now I think I have solved it at last, I’m free
At 42, the question must quite simply be me.

Nuff said!!!
© Jem Farmer 2009, all rights reserved.