’Twas summer, and a hot one at that.
And the girl was inside for being a brat.
“But why?” she had moaned, and Mom had yelled back:
“You must listen, and follow, and never talk back!
Look at those girls, all done up right.
With hair all curled and frills all white.
And now look at yourself, picking a fight!”
So the girl checked the mirror to see what she saw,
And there she started and dropped her jaw.
“Beware the Ipseechoker!” herself whispered back.
“But I’m you, you’re me.” said the girl, feeling slack.
Hair all ruffled, and frills all pink.
The girl in the mirror giggled and winked.
“Not yet,” She said, “I’m me, you’re you.
Soon to be smothered and crushed by the shoe
Of the terrible Ipseechoker — he comes for you quick
And locks you within a barred cage with a click!”
“So what must I do?” the girl said with a frown.
Her mirror-self’s eyes widened: green, golden, and brown:
“Gazinder and journafrey, jinder and whallop,
Bash the wutox because you must heehallop.”
“Wait!” the girl cried, “but that made no sense!”
But herself turned and ran, from back which she whence.
And then there she was, running away
Through a tunnel, to a world of a radiant day.
Glittering and glowing, what a world to adore!
She frolicked and yipped and her heart set to soar.
Her heels sprouted wings — little dragonfly things -
And her hands became diamonds to smash crowns of kings.
“Gimble!” she screamed. “Galluff and grewlee!
Yawnder and wander and yes, whippleetee!”
But then voices came singsong, all mighty and tighty,
And wrapped her in words dripping oil-slick cruelty:
“Weird and wrong and mad as a hatter!”
They snickered and teased and she wanted to shatter.
So off she then ran to a hole in the ground,
And jeeby by heeby you won’t believe what she found.
Glass cages.
Perma-perfect frozen girls -
Their light beams bent through
Transparent lies and
Echoing whispers… he
Arms up, mid-dance.
Rows and
Rows.
These girls became ice sculptures long long ago…
Then came the slithering slithering toker,
The girl turned around and viddied the Choker!
“Come little girl, come and dance for me,”
It spoke in her Mother’s voice from behind rows of teeth.
“Don’t be a brat, and sit up straight.
Be a good girl, now, for my hunger to slate.”
The grottish beast slithered claws ‘round her waist
Placed her in plié and snaked ice ‘cross her face.
She felt her unflustered resolve slip to static
And it faded away — her grip on somatic.
But halt! She quarreled her trealops to prekiln this fight
There was simply no way she would cave to this night.
She grippled the chrysileen slives from her cheeks,
And slish-slashed the ockes of the terrigornt beast.
It twingled and blibbered and fell with a roar.
With one final swipe, the Ipseechoker was no more.
The girl turned, exhausted, away towards her home
And her mirror-self stood there: “you’ve written the poem!
But still there remains many a thing left to do -
That one Ipseechoker was only for you.”
