Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

If there’s a spider in your bath you can squash it
with a roll of paper. Or wash it down the
plug-hole, unless you don’t like killing things.
Then you could lift it out of the bath by hand,
unless you’re squeamish and don’t like spiders
next to your skin, in which case you can chase it
into a jam jar and let it go in the garden.

It was Saturday night, 7 o’clock. I had
a date for 8.00. I went to run a bath and
there was a tiger in it!

. . . A t-t-t-tiger . . .

You can’t squash tigers with a roll of paper.
They won’t wash down the plug-hole, and anyway
I don’t like killing things. Tigers weigh 50lbs.
You can’t lift them by hand, and anyway
I’m squeamish. I don’t like tigers next to my skin.

Tigers are 8ft long. They don’t fit in jam jars; even
if they did you can’t let them loose in the garden.
The neighbours complain, ‘That tiger you let go
in the garden, it’s eaten all
my children.’

It was 7.15. What could I do? I know. I pay
taxes don’t I? I’ll tell the authorities.

‘Hello. Police? Oh good. You see, there’s
a tiger in my bath.’

‘Are you aware that wasting Police time is a
criminal offence?’

Try Fire-Brigade.

‘Hello. Fire-Brigade? Oh good. You see,
there’s a tiger in my bath.’

‘Is it on fire?’

‘What do you mean, is it on fire?’

‘Well, if it’s not on fire, why call
the Fire-Brigade?’

‘Well, you could say it is . . . figuratively,
as in ‘Tiger, Tiger, burning bright . . .’

‘Are you aware . . .’

‘Yes, I know. Wasting Fire-Brigade time is
a criminal offence.’

No use phoning the Ambulance. It doesn’t look
sick.

It was 7.30. What could I say if I was late?
‘Sorry love, but there was a tiger in my bath.’
She’d never believe me. There would be
recriminations. ‘Give us a cuddle.’ ‘Get your
tiger to give you a cuddle.’

So. What do you do if there’s a tiger in your
bath?
Simple. You take a shower.

I got in the shower and turned the tap on and
guess what came out.

Spider? - No.

Green fungus? - No.

GAS. I told you it was an anti-fascist poem.