I squashed a cockroach the other day.
A big, Fat, Cockroach.
It was trying to get away and I squashed it.
Not that I had anything against that, Particular cockroach but, I was bare-foot.
I had tea, And biscuits, And was bare-foot when he made his dash across the corridor.
It took some time to calm down and, Fetch another tray.
When I returned, The cockroach had moved.
A thick, white streak, Of substantial viscosity, Ran right across the floor and, Straight under my door.
Her gartered leg was up on the table.
She removed a delicate silver pistol and, With his back turned, Fired a single shot.
I used a shoe this time, Like a maniac,
And then, Framed by a single, Swinging light-bulb, Waited for the detective.