No. 1378: The winners

Jaspistos reports: Competitors were asked for a poem beginning 'Jenny kiss'd me when we met' but, unlike Leigh Hunt's, expressing displeasure on the occasion. Jenny came in all shapes and sizes: animally, she was a bitch, a sow or a gorilla; humanly a schoolgirl, a crone, a stepmother on first meeting, a loathed nanny, an aggressive aunt (thanks, 13- year-old S. H., for the drawing), a vora- cious divorcee, the result of a sex-change, or Jane Carlyle — which historically she was, Leigh Hunt having written the poem after the usually formal and strait-laced Jane had given him a glad smacker on his recovery from a severe illness. Although I invited 'ungallantry', I was taken aback by the Swiftian stream of physical invective the competition unleashed, though I was delighted by the number of entries. The winners printed below deserve more than the £7 each that 1 award, and the bonus bottle of Cognac Courvoisier VSOP goes to Noel Petty.

Jenny kissed me when we met; On my lips the taste still lingers. First, a rush of vinaigrette Overlaid with stale fish-fingers, Then an afterburn of mint, Sundry spirituous liquors, And, to top it off, a hint

Of the changing-room at Twickers. Every night I kneel and pray, If there be a God, 0 hear me! Till my taste-buds waste away, Don't let Jenny near me. (Noel Petty) Jenny kissed me when we met, Leaving one cheek marked bright red.

Why can't she — I can — forget The single night we spent in bed?

Now my darling Juliet Has got it into her thick head That old Jennifer's a threat, And is cutting me stone-dead.

If men used lipstick too, I bet Justice would be fairer spread. (Oliver Plonk) Jenny kissed me when we met.

Silly moo!

Flung her arms around my neck And shouted 'You!'

Right in front of the Inspector And the Managing Director. What a bloody stupid, female thing to do!

(John Stanley) Jenny kissed me when we met, Slobbering through carious breath; Jenny's kisses, I regret, Parallel the kiss of death.

Her abundant warm saliva Comes up anything but roses. Jenny kisses; after, I've a Cheek that reeks of halitosis.

Still, I'll put up with her kisses. Though I'm ugly, old and poor, Someone's glad to greet me — this is Jenny, my black Labrador. (Christine Mclvor) Jenny kissed me when we met, But now she's after poor Leigh Hunt. How can she scorn her faithful Tom For such a puir wee feckless runt? But still, her cooking's past a joke; I wouldn't mind if he should part us; At least I'd have some peace at last To get on with Sartor Resartus. (0. Banfield) Jenny kissed me when we met After a head-on collision Strange expression of regret For the defects of her vision Which had smashed my old Chevette With incredible precision.

But though Jenny kissed me (twice) Broken legs are far from funny, And her kiss could not suffice Though her lips were sweet as honey, So I asked for for the price Not in kisses, but in money. (Peter Hadley) Jenny kissed me when we met. She left my larynx soaking wet; Her tongue's quick, salivating lunge Prodded mine like sodden sponge.

MY tonsils, floating in my throat Like ballast in a sinking boat, Vibrated by the bubbled air Escaping lungs in sheer despair.

I gurgled as, in vain surprise,

My whole life flashed before her eyes;

But she, mistaking this for bliss, Capsized me with a second kiss.

(E. L. Bellwringle) Jenny kissed me when we met, An auntish, damp, enthusiastic kiss, With whiskers bristling, fierce and wet. Her breathing mimicked the pneumatic hiss Of air-brakes on a juggernaut as, Bearing down, she blocked all view of garden, Imprisoning me in a conclusus hortus Of California-poppied breasts and cardigan Rough as barbed wire on a Greenham fence. I shrank away, refused, was later told How rude — I should have made polite pretence! Forgive me: I was only two years old.

(D. A. Prince)