Moaning Minnie

‘You could moan for England,’
is what Mum said to me.
When asked for his opinion
Dad said, ‘I agree.’

He entered me in a regional heat
and I easily got through
but by the time I’d reached the final
I said ‘Uh! Do I have to?’

They pushed me on the platform
and gave me a microphone
so I took a breath as deep as the sea
and then began to moan.

I moaned about the weather.
I moaned about TV.
I moaned about my brother.
I moaned about being me.

I moaned about the whole wide world.
I moaned about our sofa.
I planned to moan for hours
but they said, ‘STOP! It’s over.’

‘That’s it. You’re the winner.
Now what have you got to say?’
‘Me? A winner! Wow!
You’ve really made my day.’

‘Sorry,’ they said, ‘Trick question.
A ruse. A crafty test.
You would have kept on moaning
if you really were the best.’

I could have moaned. But didn’t.
I suddenly didn’t care.
It was Mum and Dad who went on and on
about it being unfair.

I don’t want to moan for England.
At last my goal’s worthwhile.
I’ll strive to be the owner
of the nation’s widest smile.

Art by Edouard Pignon (see extra)