Three Little Pigs (The New Twist version)

There once were three piggies with three types of wit
And three little wolves who were of the same knit.
The pigs were named Abel and Lincoln and Babe;
While the wolves were named Cain, Davis, and Sacrebleu.
(You thought that last line should have rhymed, didn’t you?)

Now after a dinner of slop and coleslaw
The youngest pig, Abel, built his house of straw
While his brother, Lincoln, got blueprints from hicks
And built himself a house out of stick-like bamboo.
(You think that that line should probably rhyme too?)

Old Babe was the wisest and bought mortar mix
And spent quite a while on his house made of bricks.
Just what were the wolves doing during all this?
They all went out to take a piscatory day.
(Well what did you think I was going to say?)

Now Cain came  upon the house made of straw.
He started to chuckle which burst to guffaw.
His deep hearty laughter stirred up quite a wind
And poor little Abel’s small house just caved in.
(This is my story; I’ll tell it with my spin.)

Abel was quick and escaped to Lincoln’s hut.
They sighed sighs of relief–thought they were safe, but
Cain and Davis showed up looking serious;
They huffed and they puffed and blew a wind furious.
(I watched the whole thing–guess I was curious.)

Able Abel and Lincoln ran fast to Babe
Screaming something sounding like “Mome raths outgrabe!”
They all hid in the house and cowered in fear
Waiting for inevitable to appear
(And what if the story had ended right here?)

First Cain and then Davis and last Sacrebleu
Arrived at the doorstep of Babe’s house all new.
Then Sacrebleu asked, like a fine gentleman,
“Oh please little pigs, won’t you please let us in?”
(But the pigs shouted something ending with “Chin!”)

Babe gathered his courage and shouted to all,
“Huff and puff all you want!  My brick house won’t fall!”
Sacrebleu smiled; his eyes flashed with dark night,
Then he pulled from his pocket some dynamite.
(I covered my ears as he gave it a light.)

The wolves backed away from the little pigs’ doom,
Bricks–instant dust at the sound of the KABOOM!
Sacrebleu started shrieking, “Die, piggies, die!”
(I thought at that moment I was going to cry
‘Til I saw three pig shapes way high in the sky
And that’s when I realized that pigs could fly.)

For: http://dversepoets.com/2012/03/17/poetics-once-upon-a-time/

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