The Martian oozed up our garden path
and rang the front door bell;
his scales were blue, his teeth were green,
he had a horrible smell.
'What do you want?' asked Grandpa.
'You'd better not come inside,
you'd ruin all the carpets and
the scatter rugs besides.'
The Martian lowered his spacesuit
to the ground with a rattling clank.
'Have you got any second-hand chewing gum
to mend my oxygen tank?
'I'm losing all my pressure through
this rusty little leak
and I need to plug it as quick as I can,'
he said with a plaintive squeak.
Grandpa ran to the bedroom.
From under the reading lamp
he grabbed some of last night's chewing gum
that was sticky still, and damp.
He handed it to the Martian
who took it with a shout
and plastered it over the leaky bit
where the gas was whistling out.
Then Captain Chook, the Martian,
went safely home to Mars
where the little moons spin like humming tops
among the silent stars.
Now Grandpa often tells the tale
while sipping at him rum;
how he saved the expedition
with some second-hand chewing gum.
by Bill Scott
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