Red Riding Hood

Red Riding Hood

“Trees, trees, twisty paths, tra la la la la.

Why here’s a little tree just my size.”

I was five, going on six,

The school play beckoned.

‘You can be Red Riding Hood’

my form teacher reckoned.

‘Learn these lines, get a red cape.’

But the only thing that colour turned out to be red tape.

‘Stand here and deliver the speeches’

then the teacher turned attention to his breeches

‘And a lumberjack would really wear leather,

you work out in all types of weather.’

“Trees, trees, twisty paths, tra la la la la.”

The forest was fidgety and the wolf scratched his nose.

The pianist plink-plonked, we kept on our toes.

The teacher directed and rehearsed us once more.

The lumberjack and wolf were fighting on the floor.

“Trees, trees, twisty paths, tra la la la la.”

All the parents were bundled into the school hall.          

And the company performed, the audience to enthral.

We captured the moment, the bad and the good.

And the artists skipped along through the wood.

The wolf kept burping, granny threw a tantrum,

The lumberjack’s breeches were far from humdrum.

“Trees, trees, twisty paths, tra la la la la.”

The opening line was delivered, the script totally inane

But the highlight of the evening was the trees’ own Dunsinane,

As they shuffled across the stage and a few shed several leaves

Mumbling as they migrated, scary beetles up their sleeves.

The parents they all loved it, the teacher took a bow,

And everyone agreed that the production had really been a wow.

The problem with school is that you are held in gentle captivity

And already the teacher is planning her next production – the Nativity.

Still, at least my mother won’t have to make an outfit red -

I’ll be a shepherd in a field, with a stripy towel on my head.

Linda Prince