Making Monsters

Bumzoolo's the monster
I made up last week.
A monster so scary
I'm now losing sleep..!

It has quibbles for flesh
It has sago for skin
Its voice is a sermon
On Original Sin

It has spokesmen for spikes
And cutbacks for claws
Its ribs are all wonky
Like half-opened drawers

It has barbed-wired feet
And OFSTED-ing arms
When springing it sounds
Like an intruder alarm

It has landmines for lungs
And a heartful of haste
Its clothes are all pressed
Make me feel outta place

It has tax-forms for teeth
And hang-nails for eyes
Its head is the shape
of an old kipper tie

It has breath like a dog
A smile like a wake
And a face that's as sad
as a burnt bit of cake

Bumzoolo's a monster
Brought out of my mind
When you look there for monsters
Beware of your finds!