A nasty youth called Elvis Widgeon
Ate his Father’s racing pigeon.
He killed and cooked it out of spite
‘Cos he and Dad had had a fight
About his boozing and his clubbing.
Elvis got a proper drubbing.
So Elvis got some satisfaction
Watching Father, in distraction,
Searching for his pride and joy,
Not knowing it was in the boy.
Until he gave up in defeat.
To Elvis this revenge was sweet.
But then a strange event occurred
Which Elvis thought was quite absurd.
He’d set off for a victory drink,
Got halfway there and, in a wink
Spun on his heel and headed back.
Poor Elvis felt quite out of whack.
The problem went from bad to worse.
Demented, he would shout and curse
And set off to the local bar
But he could never get too far
Before he’d turn and run for home
Because he couldn’t bear to roam.
And then it dawned through his new sobriety
That the bird that he ate was a homing variety
And something in the pigeon’s brain
That made it fly back home again
Had somehow got inside his head
And made him come back home instead.
The youth was in an awful plight
And though he tried to put it right
By eating things that tend to roam,
(Like hedgehogs) he would still run home.
And so he faced the truth of it,
A simple case of Biter bit.